


Reclamation of Shadows

by aguardian



Series: Of Shadows [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AC Brotherhood, AC Project Legacy, Apple of Eden, Gen, Rome | Roma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 46,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aguardian/pseuds/aguardian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones broken will only be mended anew, and towers built upon ruins soar higher than those before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beyond the Walls

The day was just beginning, but already the skies were thick with smoke and voices and heightened emotion, weighing the very air with a rejuvenating power. From his position on a hill that towered over the battlefield, the commander could not help but smile, the twisted grin spreading across his features as he looked over his army, and the merciless destruction it spread across the Tuscan countryside.

The city stronghold had not stood a chance against the many engines of war at his disposal, and Cesare reminded himself to filter more effort into furthering their design. The success of this siege more than assured that other cities would fall to him just as easily as this upstart village of Monteriggioni had, especially if this cleansing of his enemies went as smoothly as he had planned.

" _Comandante_ , we've broken through the defenses of the front gate."

The young Borgia heir waved an impatient hand to the foot soldier, leisurely making his way to the bottom of the rise. "Tell the men to ready the battering ram," he said assuredly, speaking over the loud discharges of cannons lined up on either side of him. "Have them prepare to storm the city itself, and make sure that the order for a ceasefire is passed to the troops once we enter the city. We wouldn't want to spook our prey with too much cannon fire."

The soldier dipped his head in a bow before scurrying off. As Cesare watched him leave, he caught sight of the  _ingegnere_  standing by the base of one of the collapsed siege towers, his gaze fixed uneasily upon the shattered walls of the city. Perhaps out of regret?

"Is there a problem,  _messere_  da Vinci?" he asked calmly, smirking a little as the older man jumped at the sudden address.

"Ah, of course not,  _comandante_ ," the artist responded as he appeared to compose himself, his tone measured, if a little halting. "It is just that I have never been on a battlefield before. I suppose I am a little nervous."

"That's unnecessary, you have nothing to fear from our enemies. They were broken as soon as the first blow was felled," Cesare said carelessly, continuing to pace towards stretch of burnt grass and earth in front of the main gate. "Come, walk with me."

Left with little choice, Leonardo followed in his wake, and the commander subtly took note of the line of worry across his brow, an expression of concern that he was obviously attempting to hide. Despite the recent evidence to support his alliance to their cause, Cesare decided that it would be safer to have this supposed ally of his more carefully watched.

As he stepped across several of the stone-like bodies sprawled upon the ground, the Templar waved a hand to Micheletto, who was approaching from his other side. "Give the order to break down the gates."

The soldiers converged and scattered, busily adjusting the gigantic wood and metal mechanism against the fortified entranceway, and as Cesare watched them work, he caught sight of movement from one of the fallen defenders, who was struggling to rise from the dirt. He stepped over to him disinterestedly, drawing his long sword to end the pathetic man's existence, when he noticed the bright red and gold Auditore crest emblazoned across the still-living one's dark cape.

An idea and a small smirk passed across his face.

He gestured to one of his captains with his bared blade, ordering him to retrieve the man, who he assumed to be Mario Auditore, the decrepit guardian of Monteriggioni. As the injured  _condottiero_  was forced to his feet, the commander sheathed his sword and approached, studying him leisurely and noticing a large pouch knotted hastily to the other's belt. Curious, he reached for it, and at his approach, the man flinched away from him, straining feebly against the guard's grip and growling out a threat that Cesare ignored.

"Wait,  _comandante_ ," the  _ingegnere_  spoke up abruptly from his elbow, as he too made to take the pouch. "He may injure you, please, allow me to-"

"I think I can handle a dying old man,  _messere_  da Vinci," he snapped dangerously, casting a glare in his direction and stopping him midway. The artist drew back a little reluctantly, and Cesare reached into the man's pouch with his free hand, deaf to the weak invectives thrown at him as he withdrew the large orb from it.

Cesare turned the silvered artifact thoughtfully between his fingers, almost laughing as he realized what it was. This was much easier than he had anticipated.

At this point, an earsplitting bang reverberated through the air, followed by a great splintering of wood as the city gate gave way, and opened up a rift through the shell of Monteriggioni's defenses. The commander stowed the treasure into the satchel at his waist, and set off towards the gaping hole left by the battering ram, calling lightly back to the guard captain holding the prisoner, "Throw the old man into the city. Let's see if we can catch ourselves an eagle."

His army generals flanked him closely as he made his way into the empty city, with Leonardo trailing a few steps behind with the rest of the soldiers. As the  _condottiero_  was tossed carelessly onto the street, Cesare raised his voice, addressing the battle still taking place high above them across the length of the city walls.

"Ezio Auditore! Come, I know you are in here somewhere," he spoke confidently, gray eyes sweeping the battlements for any sign of the Assassin. "You left the fortress so quickly yesterday that we did not get a chance to meet."

There - a figure leaping from the fortress walls and running across the rooftops towards them.  _So predictable, Auditore_ , Cesare laughed silently to himself, casually taking a  _pistola_  from Micheletto.

"Still, I'm sure you understand that I cannot allow you and your kind to live," he continued to call to the ash-laden skies, calm and unhurried. He took the few steps to the man still stirring helplessly on the ground, and slowly lowered the weapon towards him. "Though do not think of this as murder, but merely, a cleansing."

The commander's gaze was not upon his target as he pulled the trigger, but instead upon the walls where he knew his arquebusiers were stationed. He saw the flash of gunpowder in the distance, and knew that they would not miss.

From there, he turned his attention to the Assassin, who had halted upon hearing the gunshot, his expression a thundercloud of rage and pain. For a brief moment, Cesare met the eagle's dark eyes fearlessly, smugly, feeling a measure of satisfaction as he watched him bleed, watched him fall. His generals murmured among themselves, perhaps feeling it was over, but the commander thought otherwise. He would be thorough this time. There was no way he would repeat his father's mistake.

As he calmly reloaded the  _pistola_ , one of his generals addressed him, "Sir, should we fall back? The city's occupants have been located fleeing to the north of the fortress, and we should be able to pursue them."

"Not yet," Cesare said evenly, dispassionately cocking the weapon in his hand and heading farther into the besieged city. "I will take no chances. The army will not withdraw until I have the Assassin's corpse at my feet."

He glanced over to his bodyguard, who was following him closely as usual, "Did your men locate the escape route from the city, Micheletto?"

" _Si, padrone_ ," he replied quietly, from his usual place a step behind him. "The first men who were able to reach Monteriggioni's parapets saw the citizens fleeing through what appeared to be the entrance to a catacomb, a tunnel system under the city."

"Good, good. Has it been sealed off?"

"Yes," Micheletto answered crisply. "The soldiers on the walls were able to direct cannon fire onto the side street where the entrance was situated. The damage must have been more than enough to block it with rubble."

As they turned the corner into a courtyard adjacent to the narrow alleyway, Cesare found all these words to be true, and he smirked in anticipation. "And now..."

Almost as if on cue, a loud clamor of hooves sounded out from around the opposite corner, and the commander calmly raised his  _pistola_  again. A white shape flashed out from around the building, the horse's rider completely missing the two figures standing in the small courtyard as he made for the entrance to the tunnels.

The pale stallion reared in a panic as it nearly collided with the large hunks of debris scattered before it, whinnying and prancing to one side as it attempted to keep its footing. As its rider tried to calm it, he paused abruptly, and looked directly back to meet Cesare's gaze.

The commander only smiled at him as he fired.


	2. Dead End

It was a little surprising, but though Ezio felt the impact of the bullet against his lower back, felt the tear of flesh and fibers, there was no pain. His body had long been numbed after the shot that had ripped through his shoulder, and all he was able to acknowledge was the solid force throwing him from the saddle. His mount gave a bray of confusion as he fell, bolting a distance away and coming to a trembling halt by the tree in the courtyard.

The nobleman grunted as he collided with a chunk of stone that had once been part of Monteriggioni's bank, collapsing next to it against the ash-smudged ground. However, the shock of the gunshot wore off quite quickly, and he was able to raise himself to a crouch with little difficulty, he so detached from the veritable barrage of trauma he had suffered, both to body and spirit.

Blood ran thickly down his arm as he clutched distractedly at the hole through his right flank, his eagle giving a low, livid hiss at the affront. Ezio's very being smoldered with a cold rage as he turned his attention back to the  _comandante_ , to the one who had shattered his home, and had torn the life from his uncle. The pitiless gray gaze of his enemy taunted him, and he realized that it was all he could focus on.

There were other men around them now, heavily armored guards with halberds and spears leveled in his direction, however, the Assassin did not -  _could_  not - look away from the Templar's face. Deliberately, he climbed to his feet, unafraid and uncaring of the  _pistola_  pointed between his eyes.

" _You must live_ , amico mio _, for all of us. Still so many depend on you."_

His friend's earnest words, spoken to him mere minutes ago, rang through his mind, but he paid them little heed. He had agreed with Leonardo then, but he had not expected to come face to face with his uncle's murderer so soon, and the wounded rage still roiled fresh within him, his eagle spirit demanding that the offense be repaid in blood.

"Shoot me," Ezio spoke flatly to the younger man standing across from him, his eyes slitted. "Shoot me or I'll kill you."

His tone was dead, but none present doubted the threat's sincerity. The challenge hung in the air for a stretched moment, but not a soul moved, all perhaps waiting on the Templar's response to the impetuous words. The Assassin tested his left arm discretely, realizing a little stoically that it no longer responded to any attempts to move it. Thus instead, he set a hand lightly on the hilt of his rapier, ignoring the weapons jabbed closer towards him as the guards warned him into stillness.

Cesare, as Leonardo had referred to him, studied him languidly, before allowing a chuckle. "Bold words, Auditore, when it looks as if you may die simply by standing there," he remarked. "Or are Assassins greater than men, and do not require blood in their bodies?"

The nobleman did not answer him, and the commander calmly drew his pistol away, thoughtfully running a hand across the barrel. "I'll admit I am a little curious of these so-called skills you boast of. Come, then, Assassin, put your words into action."

Ezio's lip lifted in a small snarl as he saw the glance that Cesare passed to the guards – as if he believed he would not catch it – and knew from where the strike would come. The Assassin sensed the rush of movement from a soldier on his left, the foolish man attempting to attack while his attention was turned upon the commander.

His rapier left its scabbard in a flash, and he viciously kicked aside the spear driving towards him, barely needing to move as the unfortunate guard stumbled forward, unbalanced, and impaled himself upon the blade held out towards him. The nobleman twisted the weapon and heaved the corpse away, throwing it blatantly at Cesare's feet in a scattering of crimson.

His enemies hesitated upon seeing the efficiency wielded by this blood-covered phantom, one who had sustained injuries that would have crippled a lesser man. The Templar himself, however, did not seem alarmed, but merely curious at his attempts.

The Assassin shifted his fingers upon the golden hilt pressed to his palm and waited for the next attack, feeling the threatening weakness of hypovolemic shock searing through him, but rebuking it as he would any other enemy. Narrowed, dark eyes roved over the tensed soldiers, but paused upon catching sight of a figure standing by his still-agitated steed, behind the mass of soldiers.

His friend, his voice of reason, perhaps, was there once again, looking at him sternly from the safety of his feigned allies' backs. Leonardo mouthed a single word to him, almost in a command, and the Assassin repressed a sharp breath of exasperation, hesitating before accepting it. For now, he would restrain his eagle.

Unexpectedly, Ezio gave a sharp whistle, startling all present; save his white stallion, which pricked its ears in recognition of the summon. As he swiftly sheathed his blade, he watched the horse barrel quite boldly through the line of spears and armor towards him, knocking several guards off balance, and not stopping even as its master latched onto it, putting a boot into one of the stirrups and clinging to the saddle just enough to be carried free from the press of enemies.

The nobleman ignored the  _comandante_ 's yell of alarm at his escape, holding onto his steed with difficulty as it shot off towards the villa. Another, desperate shot from a  _pistola_  sounded into the decaying air of Monteriggioni, but he merely shifted his weight abruptly, momentarily staggering his horse and managing to dodge the shot. He refused to give Cesare the satisfaction of taking him down in flight.

The jar of his stallion climbing the steps to the pinnacle of the city nearly shook him from the saddle, and Ezio tightened his grip rather convulsively, groaning quietly at the throbbing ache in his arm and side. The sting of a bullet had once been a pain only he could inflict, and he now realized dully that he would need to get used to suffering through it as well, as so many of his enemies had.

A short wall in the back garden of the villa finally bested his grip, and the Assassin slipped from his horse as it skipped over the low railing. He hit the stones painfully, but scrambled to push himself to his feet even as he heard the clatter of the soldiers gaining on him. The white stallion could bring him no further, and it merely watched as Ezio stumbled to the northern wall, dulled eyes fixed determinedly upon one of the parapets. Far below, in the promising safety of the countryside, he could hear the faint sounds of the citizens of Monteriggioni in retreat, and he knew that his only chance at life would be to reach them.

His body was failing, but he pressed on nevertheless, fighting simply to draw breath past his tightening throat, constricted as it was with exhaustion. He took the fortified wall in two steps, not bothering to look down nor behind as he threw himself from the battlements, his eyes fixed only forward, upon the curled shapes of distant clouds.

Faith was rewarded as a haystack wrapped about him and snatched him from death, but the shattering agony as he landed on his injured back threatened to break him, and he choked out a scream of pain. Briefly, Ezio flickered toward the void, his eagle spirit scattering feathers and shrieking its indignity at the weakness, until he managed to clamp onto life, coughing and determinedly holding onto the world.

Vaguely, he heard voices about him as he clambered from the bale, familiar and calming, but barely penetrating the heavy mist. Someone had grabbed his arm to support him, and he leaned heavily against them; air hissing through his gritted teeth as he fought to stay awake. However, the ravages of the injury, of an on setting fever, proved too much, even for the Assassin, and he found that consciousness was too heavy a burden to bear.


	3. Somewhere Missing

He slipped sporadically in and out of consciousness, though he was never sure if the flashes he caught were true wakefulness, or simply delusions of his addled mind. Of these fleeting glimpses, he could recall very little. There were voices, at times, but the most that he could remember was the sapping cold that tore at his focus and strength, barely allowing him to glimpse the corporeal world before sending him reeling back into darkness and silence. There was pain too, of course, but this he only acknowledged in afterthought.

These moments stretched timelessly, almost threatening never to end; as such, the return to the world of the living was like being thrown into an alien landscape, and he reacted on raw instinct upon regaining control of his limbs. A person shifted from somewhere above him, and as they reached towards his injured shoulder -  _merda_ , his shoulder was killing him! - he lashed out with his good arm, viciously knocking away whatever weapon or device of torture they were trying to rip him with next.

However, instead of a sharp reprimand from his captor, or even an attempt to restrain him, he was instead met with a young woman's yelp of surprise, and it took him a startled moment to comprehend that the supposed weapon he had struck aside had simply been a soaked cloth, about to be used to clean his partially dressed wound. The other's reproachful gaze met his own, and he stammered out an apology, realizing blankly that he could not recognize her, nor anything of his surroundings.

The house that enclosed him was small, wooden and modest, though workable. This lady obviously lived in it by herself - so what was  _he_  doing here? Where exactly was here?

"Where is this?" he managed to question past a notoriously dry throat, frowning a little at the rasp in his voice.

"You are in Roma,  _messere_ ," the woman said a little timidly, retrieving the cloth she had dropped and eying him as if she wondered if he would attack her again. "You've been here for a few days now. A man left you in my care, asking me to keep you until your injuries were on the mend."

"My injuries…?" Almost disbelievingly, he sat up, only to flinch sharply as unseen daggers seemed to twist in his multiple wounds. Gritting his teeth and steadying himself against the headboard of the bed, he touched a hand to the roughly scabbed wound through his flank, then to the tightly bound strips of cloth seeming to hold the bones of his shoulder in place. Ah… These explained the encompassing cold, the delirium and confusion. He must have lost so much blood in the attack.

Attack. There had been an attack, he realized blankly, frowning and wondering why that fact confused him. He knew it had occurred, but… why had there even been an attack? Why had he been there? Gripping at his forehead, he scowled deeply, unable to comprehend why his mind seemed to cloud, why he could barely - could  _not_  - seem to recall the circumstances that had inflicted such grievous wounds.

The memory flickered just out of his reach, a shadow at the corner of his eye; but from it he felt a pang of loss, one that had delved a furrow in his spirit far deeper than that through his shoulder or side. Tangled fragments were all he could salvage from it, and he could only reflect that the attack had robbed him of more than mere blood in his body. He had lost a part of himself to the flames and crush of cannonballs.

"Did this man who brought me here tell you his name?" he asked offhandedly, trying to repress the frustrating helplessness of his mental state. A little brazenly, he pushed back the sheets from his bare chest, and cautiously stretched his arm, testing the knotted muscles.

The young lady hurried to retie the bandages on his shoulder as he made to stand. "No, I'm afraid I did not ask. Though he did leave these clothes and equipment here for you. It seems you are quite the soldier - though with these wounds you suffered, that's hardly a surprise."

He nodded distractedly as he pulled on the hooded robe, which fit him reasonably well, though they were unfamiliar. As he reset the comforting weight of his blades to his waist and left arm, he asked a little drily, "Did my nameless savior request anything else of me?"

"Yes, actually. He said to instruct you to meet  _signore_  Niccolo Machiavelli near the Mausoleo di Augusto as soon as you were able."

"Machiavelli?" he repeated slowly, fighting to keep back the irritation as his mind sluggishly processed the thought. "Yes, I think I know someone of that name, though…  _merda_ , I'm not sure."

"Please take it easy," the woman said gently, supporting him by the arm as he moved a little unsteadily towards the door. "Many men have ended up dead from wounds such as yours. The blood loss likely weakened your memory, though it will come back to you in time, I'm sure of it."

"Of course," he spoke with a trace of a smile and more confidence than he felt. "I thank you for your kind help,  _buona donna_ , and wish to ask just one more thing. The one who brought me here - did he tell you  _my_  name?"

The young lady only smiled tolerantly in response, but upon seeing his patient, completely serious expression, she looked a little surprised. "Ezio,  _messere_ ," she told him after a pause, a pitying note in her tone. "Ezio Auditore."

He offered her a small grin in reply, heartening her into realizing that he was indeed kidding after all, but his brow furrowed again nearly as soon as he had turned the corner and padded lightly onto the streets. He knew who he was, of course, had never really forgotten; however, his confidence still felt shaken, the heavy fog that lay remnant from his injuries still obscuring many of his recent memories - especially the accursed cause of them in the first place. Had the event been so traumatizing that his subconscious was attempting to forget?

There was neither hesitation nor controllable remorse as, in the back of his mind, he silently answered himself, yes.

Shaking his head slightly, Ezio returned his attention to the task at hand, seeking out Machiavelli. He had always respected this Assassin whom he had first met on the day of his induction, younger than he in age, yet superior in standing. However, for some reason, with just the mere thought of him, he could not help but feel a touch of loathing just behind his Sense, the hiss of his eagle that ever warned him of an enemy.

He and Machiavelli had many a time differed in opinion, in truth, though that was no reason to feel such derision. Nevertheless, the nobleman could not help but wonder if he had forgotten something important about him, a key element to his psyche that could determine whether he could be trusted or not. His own memories of him before the recent battle were intact, though perhaps something had occurred during it to result in such feelings against his Brother. In all honesty, he could not remember.

There would be only one way for him to know the truth, thus he moved steadily towards the Mausoleo, which he knew lay somewhere in the northern Centro district. However, barely had he taken a few steps through the crowd on the country road, jostled heavily by box carriers and the occasional mounted citizen, did he need to stop, quietly gasping to himself and trying hide the discomfort of his injuries.

The wounds throbbed severely, even the mere weight of his weapons dragging upon them and threatening to tear at the half-healed scabs. He would not be able to climb any time soon like this, much less survive an encounter with the guards. He silently cursed the one who had crippled him so, dropping his gaze pointedly as a few civilians looked towards him in mild concern as he faltered on the path. He was drawing too much attention, he knew.

Seeking a nearby stable, he lingered by the fence, realizing that he had not the coin for one of the fully tacked horses, which lingered tauntingly within his reach. He cast a shaded glance towards the owner, who was busily raking at the fodder for his beasts, and cast him a silent apology.

Vaulting over the wooden rail with difficulty, he touched a hand to the nose of the nearest steed, calming it with a quiet word as he took hold of its bridle and led it to the edge of the corral. Grimacing slightly, he weathered the indignant cry of the stable hand and the reprimanding shouts of those nearby as he rode hard towards the city proper.

He slowed the white mare to a loping canter as soon as he was out of sight, absentmindedly gripping at his flank - the most extensive of his injuries - in an attempt to gentle the pain. If anything, though, at least his handicap was less visible to those around him from horseback. He hated to think of falling to common bandits, just because of his wounds.

Ezio abandoned the mount at the edge of the wall of buildings, giving it a final pat and hoping that it could somehow find its way back to its master. Stealing was necessary in some cases, but he disliked inconveniencing an innocent.

Leaving the open countryside behind, he slid through the many side streets, avoiding the press of commoners as he sought the rounded stone of the tomb that lay somewhere nearby. However, he had not even glimpsed the rendezvous, when his eagle spirit gave a wild cry, hackling at a sudden presence directly behind him.

His hand flew to the rapier at his waist and he drew it with difficulty, swiveling on the spot to face his attacker in the narrow alley. The hooded opponent seemed startled at his aggression, but the Assassin nevertheless glared at him, holding the point of his blade out warningly. "What do you want?"

"Calm yourself, Ezio. It's me."

He only gave a snarl in response; shifting his rapier mistrustfully and taking a threatening step forward. However, even as he began to bite out a reply, he recognized the oddly violet eyes looking steadily into his, and he started a little upon realizing whom he was holding his blade to.

"Ah, I did not… Forgive me, Volpe," Ezio said a little roughly, drawing back a pace and looking away with a measure of unease. "I did not recognize you."

"Apparently," la Volpe remarked, giving him a sidelong look as he sheathed his weapon. "You do not seem to be as alert as usual, though I suppose that is better than nothing. Many of us suspected you to be dead."

"The attack left me far from unscathed, but I am alive. However… what happened, Volpe? I… I cannot seem to remember."

The older Assassin studied him for a span, surveying his somewhat unbalanced stance and perhaps noting his injuries. A little shamed, Ezio stood straighter, meeting the other's gaze challengingly until he spoke, "It would be better if you didn't remember, but you must. Come, let us walk."

There was a stretch of somewhat rigid silence as the two rejoined the crowd; la Volpe evidently pondering on what to say as Ezio hovered by his shoulder, half a pace behind in order for them to converse without being overheard. Though he followed him docilely, inwardly, he found that he could barely stand the other's indecision, impatient as he was to be enlightened on the current situation. Blindness was maddening.

"Are you here with Machiavelli?" he questioned instead, holding his anxiety in check upon realizing that they were heading south, away from the supposed meeting place. "The woman who was tending to me said I was to look for him."

A sudden scowl crossed the fox's face, and the younger one met his narrowed gaze with confusion. "Did you not hear?" the other asked with open hatred, something the man rarely expressed. "Machiavelli has betrayed us. He aided our enemies in the attack on the villa."

The brief words were like a spark upon kindling, enough to raise a hellfire within him, and viciously rend the veil upon his memory. The phantom sound of a gunshot seemed to ring in his ears, and as the flood of emotion hit him, a cold tightness seemed to swell deep within his chest. The villa…  _Dio_ , his uncle, he had…

"I…" A steadying breath. "I will take care of him."

The renewed venom of his tone, and the raptor-like flash in his eye was evidence enough for la Volpe to know that he had remembered, and he confirmed Ezio with a dispassionate nod. "You are welcome to seek sanctuary at my guild when you have finished. Any of my thieves will be able to lead you to me."

The eagle thanked him, but caught him by the shoulder as the older man made to leave. "One last thing, Volpe. After the siege, do you know if my mother and sister were able to escape?"

"They are safe, of that I can assure you."

He allowed a meager smile. " _Grazie_."

La Volpe nodded, but paused abruptly, head cocked slightly to one side as he halted Ezio's unasked question with a raised hand. "It seems that your opportunity is here. Do not waste it."

"Ezio. I see you've recovered," spoke a calm voice, sounding out suddenly from by his shoulder. As the nobleman turned, he noticed that la Volpe was rather abruptly no longer in front of him, having faded into the crowd as easily as only one of the Order could.

Upon recognizing the man beside him, a small snarl touched his lip involuntarily and Ezio found that he needed to struggle to keep from lashing out. "Machiavelli," he greeted him crisply.


	4. Broken Ground

He was careful to keep his face blanked, but Machiavelli evidently caught the tightness of his voice, for he met his eyes warily, reading him. Neither said anything for a span, and the elder one resisted the urge to draw his blade then and there, practically tasting the impending fight upon the wind. Traitor or not, the other had still been an Assassin, and he could doubtlessly sense his intentions, his shallowly masked aggression. Striking carelessly would yield nothing.

Thus, Ezio simply met the scrutinizing gaze in kind, discretely allowing his eagle's vision to blanket his own as he did, perhaps as a means of bolstering his conviction. However, he found with a measure of shock that his Sight was unclear and nauseatingly wavered, causing a migraine to flash across his temples and focus.

Ezio suppressed a shudder, realizing that the instability of his mental state was affecting him more than he had previously thought. It unbalanced him and distanced his eagle, grinding irritatingly at his already frayed nerves. Frustration rose, and he looked away.

"Is there a problem?" The spoken statement was calm and level, but to his ears, it was almost goading, the cynicism ringing clearly behind it. Anger flared at the challenge, and he needed to remind himself with difficulty to bide his time. Distractedly, he considered the fact that he was simply incited, his temper quick to spark after so many days of inactivity and loss; yet the smoldering rage remained.

In an attempt to justify his rearing emotions, Ezio thought back and found that the memory of the attack was clear in his mind, however many specifics remained clouded. The only thing that was certain was that there must have been some means for the enemy to strike so effectively, to slip under the gaze of the ever-vigilant Assassins. The fortified city had stood for decades, and could not have fallen by mere chance.

La Volpe had named Machiavelli as the traitor, but personally, Ezio could think of nothing to condemn him. He could only wonder. Before he had succumbed to his injuries, had he known of the betrayal? Had he witnessed evidence of it himself?

The answers slipped from his grasp, but even with much struggle, the rifts in his memory persisted. He longed to fill them, hated the vulnerability they imposed upon him. Thus, driven by the ire, the intense urge to simply  _act_ , he brashly decided that he had long suspected Machiavelli's involvement in the siege. It was logical, and for what other reason could his spirit be so hostile towards the man? He had always trusted his instincts, and would not turn his back on them, regardless of how unstable they were at the moment.

"Feigning innocence is useless," he finally snarled out in response, his glare riveted upon the other as he watched for the minute signs of unease from the accusation, a furrowed brow, a shifted gaze.

"I do not understand what you mean," Machiavelli replied, his tone clipped and his hand resting casually on the curved scimitar at his waist. "Speak plainly. If you are going to accuse me of something, you may as well allow me to know what you are talking about."

"Do not patronize me. I will not play games with you,  _cazzo_ ," he snapped, speaking almost in an attempt to provoke the other into fleeing or striking first. His patience had long eroded, and Ezio ignored both the protest of his wounds as he reached for his long sword, and the frown of the other as he easily caught his change in stance.

"Then stop toying with me," the younger Assassin countered in turn, his composure rigid as he took a half step back, keeping his distance. "Do not just throw out wild allegations, and expect me to comprehend your paranoia." Seeing the other only glower at him in response, Machiavelli spoke out tightly, "Do  _not_  try it, Ezio. I warn you, you will only cause harm to yourself--"

He did not allow him to finish. The eagle simply lunged forward, simultaneously unsheathing his rapier and expecting to strike his target with the momentum of the draw. However, Machiavelli had reacted just as swiftly, sidestepping left and deftly catching his sword arm, halting the blade halfway from its scabbard.

" _Stop_ ," Machiavelli commanded icily, meeting his Brother's enraged glare with some disdain. "I do not care what qualm you have with me, but there is no reason to act foolishly. You are on Borgia territory, in case you haven't noticed. The city is looking for you."

"Suddenly you're concerned for me?" he asked mockingly, unmoving, his arm tensed against the hold and ready to lash out as soon as the other wavered. "That isn't necessary. It will do nothing to absolve your betrayal."

"And finally he speaks sense," Machiavelli said irritably, determinedly holding back Ezio's attack. "You think I've turned against the Order? For what reason?"

The detached, near callous tone only fanned at the flames, and abruptly, the elder Assassin shouldered him violently, forcing him back several steps, though Machiavelli's grip on his wrist remained locked. Several passersby flinched away at the open hostility, and many hurried off to attend to business elsewhere.

"What other reason could there be?" Ezio demanded in a livid hiss, ignoring the growing unease of the crowd, and hating the fact that he could not use his hidden blade. "My home is in ruins because of you!"

"And where is your proof of that?" the other countered vehemently, regaining his footing and continuing to grapple stubbornly against the assault. He frowned suddenly in some comprehension, and continued under his breath, "Is it because I chose to enter the Templars' service, to play as a spy? If that is your only reasoning, you are equally condemning that artist friend of yours."

"That isn't it," he bit out hotly, though in the back of his mind, he admitted that he could not provide an answer even if pressed. There was rarely any evidence behind his instincts.

"Was it la Volpe then? Don't think I didn't see him earlier." Machiavelli eyed his notoriously blank expression, before taking the silence as confirmation and continuing, "You will truly just believe his claims? Why should you trust him any more than you trust me?"

"What, are you pinning the blame upon Volpe now?" Ezio questioned harshly, though, much as he loathed admitting it, the confidence had gone from his voice.

Picking up as easily on the flicker of doubt as a raptor its prey, the other Assassin plowed on, "Yes. Think about it. Is it not so  _convenient_  to suddenly come across an old ally in Roma when you didn't expect to meet him at all? I at least have reason to be here, but what of him?"

He scowled but said nothing, the confusion only lashing out more wildly upon his consciousness. How could he remain steadfast while his eagle had all but deserted him, while his supposed Brothers spoke against each other and forced him to choose sides between what was once an alliance?  _Merda,_  this was too much.

The siege had thrown him from stable ground, he realized uneasily, stripping him of both trust and sense of security. After his enemies had so ruthlessly struck, just when he thought his battles were over, his assured truths had been shattered, and he no longer knew what to think. In whom could he put his faith now?

"Stand down, Ezio," Machiavelli stated firmly, meeting his eyes unwaveringly. "This is neither the time nor the place for us to fight. As I warned you, calling attention will only bring harm upon yourself."

Hesitantly, he loosened his grip on the sword's golden hilt, now unable to meet Machiavelli's pointed gaze. He began to speak again, but at that moment, a loud clatter of approaching steps tore into his thoughts, the sound of danger and blades all too familiar to him. One of the nervous civilians had finally had the sense to summon the guards he thought sourly.

Reflexively, Ezio turned to run, well knowing the limitations his injuries weighted him with; however, he was pulled just as quickly to a halt, and he realized a little belatedly that Machiavelli had not released him. He merely met the stoic gaze for a moment, confused, an unasked question upon his face. As realization set in, he jerked back a step in an attempt to free himself, but the other only followed, tightening his grip.

"I warned you," the younger one simply repeated, flatly meeting the other's incredulous glare as the clamor of the guards drew threateningly nearer. "You've brought this upon yourself."


	5. City in Chains

"Machiavelli, you  _figlio di_ -"

The addressed Assassin impatiently silenced his insult with a hand. "Hold your tongue, Ezio," he snapped, unthreatened by the hackling eagle. "Think for a moment. In your current state, you can neither run nor fight - don't try to deny it, anyone can see the way you are favoring your left arm. Trying to leave now will only get you killed."

"Ah, I see, I should just surrender then," the elder one spat derisively, twisting to break the other's grip and ignoring the burn of his wounds. "I would rather die."

"Brave words, though foolish," Machiavelli spoke, blatantly unimpressed as he restrained Ezio's efforts with almost infuriating ease. "But no, that is not what I meant."

The individual voices of the guards could be heard by now, and both Assassins glanced towards the disturbance. Just as Ezio began to ready himself for the onslaught, he stumbled when the other jerked abruptly against his arm, and dragged him towards a narrow staircase that dipped down towards the Tevere.

A flare of indignation. "What are you doing?"

"I think I told you to be silent," Machiavelli cut in, not looking back as he pulled him around two sharp corners, and into a deep archway that overlooked the water. Here, they drew to a halt, and though they were mere feet away from the road, Ezio realized that they were safely out of sight of the coming soldiers. Nevertheless, he glanced mistrustfully towards the younger one who stood rigidly beside him, but was only quieted by a pointed glance.

Irritated commands sounded out over their heads as the Borgia soldiers demanded answers from the nervously shifting, but politely uncooperative civilians. A few swords scraped menacingly against scabbards, but the show of hostility evidently only served to tighten the lips of the already frightened crowd.

Time passed with little progress, and finally, with several sharp reprimands directed at the one who had summoned them, the men left, leaving a few grunted gasps or yelps in their wake as innocents were shunted violently out of the way for wasting the time of the all-important city guards. The disquieted murmurs did not last long though, and soon a seeming calm had fallen over the street again.

Ezio breathed, but was careful to retain an emotionless mask, his dark gaze fixed a little unsurely upon the river in order to avoid looking toward the man beside him. "You need not thank me," Machiavelli remarked flatly after a span, stepping away from him and heading back towards the foot of the staircase.

He eyed his retreating form with a frown. "You would just turn your back on me after what happened earlier?"

"I do not fear you, Ezio. If you wish to kill me, you are welcome to." There was more impatience than derision in the clipped tone, and the nobleman found that he could not bring himself to move, to raise a blade against him.

Machiavelli paused to await the verdict and simply shrugged, unsurprised, when he found no weapon descending upon him. "As I thought. Now, I know you will simply do as you please, but if you would take any counsel, let it be this: seek out  _maestro_  da Vinci. He is in the city as well, and he seems to be the only one that you are willing to listen to."

The older Assassin said nothing, despite taking the advice to heart. As Machiavelli mounted the steps, he threw a last word over his shoulder, "Think on that as well, though - how quickly you doubt both la Volpe and me, when you so blindly trust someone who is outside the Order."

Ezio bristled at this, but had not the chance to reply as the other disappeared swiftly around the archway. Finally, invisible to all but the flitting pigeons overhead, the Assassin let out a sigh and leaned against the cool marble behind him, wearily pressing the heel of his hand to his face.

Though he loathed admitting it, the tension of the clash, the heated exchange of words and veiled threats, had sapped much of his strength. It did not help either that he could not throw off the apprehension that no safe haven was left to him, he a raptor trapped, circling endlessly over an ocean without a roost.

La Volpe had offered him the safety of his guild, true, but in his current condition, Ezio felt much too vulnerable to leave his fate to uncertainties. His two supposed allies had pointed accusing fingers to one another, and the only safe decision he could make was to be wary of them both. It would be better to take his chances on his own than to set his life in the hands of one who may have thrown his home at the Templars' feet.

He touched the half-healed gouge at his side, brooding silently. Faith had never felt this absent and difficult to give, his eagle spirit – still so maddeningly distant – likely having borne it away between its talons.

Thinking back to Machiavelli's last jibe, he knew that the accusation had struck him, though not deeply. It was true that he depended on some beyond the Brotherhood, but that was not to be condemned. Trust was gained through years and company, not merely by allegiances or common creeds. It mattered little that Leonardo was not an Assassin – he was his brother nonetheless.

This thought, much like a single thread of reason and purpose, set a goal upon his mind, and he slipped quietly out of the alleyway; deciding to head for the center of the city in search of the artist.

He had next to no leads, but he refused to allow this to trouble him. He did not dwell, and simply focused his energy on regaining control of his Sense, and reclaiming his instincts. As he paced Rome's dusking streets, he slid periodically into his eagle's vision, focusing upon the basics as he picked up on the minutest details, obstinately suppressing the resulting migraine.

The movements became mechanic, he allowing himself to flow between the streams of people as he searched, feeling the heavy weight of oppression almost everywhere he stepped. He scowled as he glanced them, but Ezio found he could do little more than watch the local soldiers parade the streets, flashing the crimson bull of the Borgia like a spiritual ward, and resorting to their blades when the men they terrorized did not submit. Disgusting.

The hour grew late as he wound through the city, but his efforts were eventually rewarded as he caught upon a flicker of gold, a dusting upon the paved stones that could have almost been dismissed as a reflection of dying sunlight. The eagle of him gave a short cry, almost in triumph, and he began to follow the bare trail with a single-minded determination.

The signals of pain his shoulder and side pricked him with were left unanswered as he swept after the lead, barely able to restrain himself from calling out to his friend when he finally caught sight of the familiar crimson cape fluttering around the corner of a house. He could think of no other means of catching Leonardo's attention without catching that of the guards as well, thus he simply tailed after him briskly, only hoping that the other would notice his presence in time.

It took several long minutes before the artist glanced over his shoulder, bright blue eyes clouded with some confusion as he evidently felt the gaze upon him. Though Ezio looked towards him steadily, Leonardo only turned and slipped into an alleyway without a word. Hoping that this was some indication that he was searching for a secluded area for them to speak in private, he followed.

The Assassin slowed upon entering the enclosed courtyard, which was empty of all but a single bench, and towering stonewalls on all sides. Not bothering to glance around as he picked up on his friend's shallowly masked aura in an indented doorway to his left, he guessed that Leonardo was attempting to hide, to slip away from his dangerous stalker. He allowed a smile as he spoke lightly, "You'll need to do better than that to escape me,  _amico_."

"…Ezio?" The sudden, joyful cry rang a little alarmingly as Leonardo practically leapt from his supposed hiding place, wrapping the eagle in an enthusiastic hug. " _Grazie a Dio_ , I was worried you had died!"

The nobleman held back a flinch as the other pressed upon his injuries, silently forgiving – indeed, almost missing – his friend's usual exuberance. The other quickly noticed his discomfort, however, and lapsed into apologies as he released him.

Ezio halted the remorseful words with some amusement, grinning a little tiredly. "It is good to see you, Leonardo."

The artist met his smile in kind, though it faded abruptly as he looked upon him with a scrutinizing eye, ever the medic. "You look like you had some time to recover,  _amico mio_ , but it's far from enough," he commented a little forlornly, glancing guiltily towards the bandages just visible past the Assassin's collar. "I am to blame for those wounds you suffered."

"Of course not. Only you see it that way," he responded firmly, moving to sit upon the nearby stone bench. "If anywhere, the fault lies on the Borgia, on…"

 _Cesare_. The name bubbled up from his memory like acrid poison, and Ezio's eyes narrowed suddenly upon recalling the Templar's smug face. How had he forgotten? It had been his commands that had shattered Monteriggioni, and had scattered the Assassins. It was his blood that his spirit so heatedly called for. Shaking his head and composing himself, he simply finished his sentence, speaking out the name in a low snarl, as if it were a curse.

Leonardo sat at his side, setting a gentle hand on his knee as he easily caught the turmoil in his gaze. "I will tell you of him, Ezio, I promise. Though first, can you wait here for me? I can fetch medicine for your wounds, something to gentle the pain. Will you be all right?"

The nobleman nodded a little distractedly, his head dipped in an attempt to mask the sudden rush of anger, of frustration. Such unbridled rage had led to nothing, he reminded himself sternly, closing his eyes behind the shadows of his hood. What he needed was rest.

The artist quietly slipped away, and Ezio listened to his steps fade. A calming silence floated down upon the enclosed space, only broken through by occasional civilians fleeing the curfew, and in it, he attempted to rally his dwindling strength. Moments passed, and he did not open his eyes until he heard someone draw near the courtyard, he tensing upon noticing the unfamiliar, light gait of a woman.

Warily, he did not raise his head, simply glancing at the feet that paused before approaching him, flowing silks fluttering about the ankles. He relaxed as he caught no sign of aggression, but was a little startled to find a gentle finger touching his chin, tilting his face up to the light.

"Would you like some company,  _signore_?" The voice was lilting and pleasant, the lady evidently not noticing as Ezio's hand leapt for his blade at the touch. The Assassin paused, however, upon meeting her eyes, and quickly forced a polite smile as he waved her off. A courtesan. Of course. Not one in the customary dress of her kind, perhaps, but there was no mistaking the invitation in her tone.

"Thank you,  _madonna_ , but there is no need. Another time perhaps."

"Not even for a moment?" she questioned with a teasing air, perching upon the bench beside him uninvited, and peering openly into his face. "If you would only give me a chance, I'm sure I have much that will surprise you." Ezio frowned slightly at her persistence, and began to respond, but was silenced as she drew slowly nearer, he only able to meet her honeyed gaze with some confusion.

He barely had time to react as his eagle screamed out a sudden warning, the lance of bladed edges singing through the air towards him.


	6. Baited Trap

The blades flashed centimeters from his eyes and, hedged in as he was by two of the courtyard's walls, Ezio had little choice but to meet the strike directly. He moved quickly enough to save himself from being blinded, lifting his arm to deflect the weapon with his bracer, but subsequently leaving himself open to the follow-through strike.

The lady met his counter smoothly and shifted closer, forcing him back into the corner as she pressed the serrated edge of her weapon to his now unprotected throat. The Assassin stilled with a hiss of irritation, his arm still half-raised, and his gaze slitted dangerously at the enemy.

"You're getting careless, Ezio Auditore," she spoke lightly, reaching forward with her free hand and taking the rapier from his belt. "To allow me to get so close to you without a fight – hardly impressive."

"What do you want?" he asked quietly, his tone dark as he glanced down at the blades pinning him in place, and noting the folding fan that concealed them. A clever weapon.

"Just for you to listen," the courtesan remarked a little flightily, tossing his long sword a distance away with a strength that did not seem fitting to her slight build. "I bear a message from  _padron_  Cesare."

The name sparked a sliver of anger in him, but the Assassin was careful to keep it from his tone, hiding the fact that every fiber of him was coiled, ready to strike as soon as he had an opening. "And what would that be?"

"He asked me to invite you to see him, that's all," she said, meeting his dubious eyes with an easy smile. "He awaits you in the Castel Sant'Angelo - and luckily for you, he needs you alive."

"Really? That doesn't seem to match his earlier motivation," Ezio commented drily. "He seemed intent on quite the opposite in Monteriggioni. Are you sure you don't have me mistaken for someone else,  _bambina_?"

A flicker of indignation showed at the term, and the eagle swiftly took advantage of the waver in concentration. Whirling around and ignoring the multiple lacerations he received as he did so, he twisted out from behind the weapon and regained his feet; catching the other by the wrist and neck as she attempted to follow him.

Blood dripped a little distractingly down across his collarbone, but the Assassin only smirked calmly, pushing his advantage as he held his enemy back. "It seems you'll need more than surprise if you wish to take me in, Templar. Would you like me to sit down so you can try again?"

The courtesan's lips thinned with anger at the derogation, though she attempted to mask it. "You've misunderstood me," she said instead, setting her free hand against the fist holding her in place. "I'm not here to capture you. Were you not listening earlier? This is an offer, not a command."

"I'm given an option? How generous of your  _padrone_ ," he remarked with dull sarcasm, pulling the other to her feet, and pushing her dismissively towards the entrance of the courtyard. "Take a message back to him from me then. I have no intention of seeking him out on any terms but my own."

Though he watched carefully in case she tried to attack him again, the lady merely straightened out her shirt collar, flicking her fan closed as she turned to eye him a little disdainfully. "That will not be your attitude for long, I'm sure. We will meet again soon, Ezio Auditore."

As she left with an assured step, the Assassin frowned mildly, touching the scratched markings left in his throat. It seemed unlikely for an ally of the Borgia to let him free so easily, and the possibility of poison crossed his mind. However, he soon thought against it, realizing that he felt no such weakness or irritation that accompanied its effects. Thus, he absently staunched the bleeding with the edge of his sleeve, knowing that the series of shallow cuts would not hamper him for long.

Sitting back down on the stone bench in the corner, he glanced up over the rooftops to the north, realizing that he could see the red banner fluttering high over the city, almost like a beacon calling him in. He would have no problem finding the  _castello_  when his opportunity came, though it would be a few days before he would be able to properly gather the information necessary for a full assault.

"I leave you alone for ten minutes, and you're injured again?"

The exasperated tone sounded out from the edge of the courtyard, and Ezio only answered his friend with a slightly wry smile as he sat beside him again.

"Don't brush me off with that look," Leonardo said a little crossly, setting the medical supplies he had purchased on the bench on his other side. "Your wounds from the siege probably left you dangerously anemic – any more you receive now is tempting death,  _amico mio_."

"I'm sorry, I'll be more careful," the Assassin replied with some amusement, watching as the other unfurled a roll of bandages, and measured a length for him. For some reason though, Leonardo's grip on the material seemed unsteady, as if he was thinking hard on something. Ezio cocked his head slightly and began to ask him of it, but he was interrupted by a gentle instruction.

"Lower your hood, Ezio, so I can bind those cuts for you."

"Hm? No, it's not that serious, I can do it myself," he spoke in protest, though he nevertheless pushed the white cloth back obediently. The artist waved him to silence and moved forward, leaning quite unnecessarily close to him as he busily began to wrap the bandage about his wounds.

"Leonardo-?"

"She is still watching us," the artist murmured softly from the close proximity, his worried, blue eyes meeting Ezio's squarely. "No, don't look. She won't attack, she's just… just making sure I do my job."

"What are you talking about?" he asked just as quietly, his brow furrowed in confusion. He resisted the urge to look up, but instead stretched out his other senses, trying to detect the enemy, though only feeling the faltering blindness caused by his injuries.

"I'm sorry, Ezio, but you'll just need to do as I say," Leonardo said somewhat hesitantly, though earnestly, glancing at his friend's unfathomable frown with trepidation. "They will seriously wound you otherwise, and I won't risk that. Cesare needs you alive for a reason, and that is the only thing preserving your life right now. Besides, this is the easiest way for you to get close to him."

"What can I possibly achieve by walking willingly into a trap?" Ezio questioned flatly, his eyes narrowed slightly at the suggestion. It had barely been a few days since he had escaped the  _comandante_ 's grasp, and he was far from willing to enter it again.

"…I will not allow them to cage you for long. You have my word,  _amico mio_." The statement was firm, though it did not quite answer his question.

Leonardo finished tying the bandages and sat back, his mouth set in a grim line as he awaited the Assassin's decision. There was a stretch of silence, and though he faltered openly, the artist simply proffered a small medicine vial to him, one similar to those purchasable from doctors. It seemed innocent enough, however, Ezio had no doubts that it did not contain any such medication.

He felt the enemy eyes upon him now, vague but all around them, they likely tensed as well in anticipation of the outcome. He could not stand to think of what would occur if he was unable to escape, thus he simply let out a quiet breath, dismissing the unease.

Swiftly taking the vial, he threw its contents back into his mouth and swallowed it in a gulp, his mind empty of all but his remaining shred of faith.


	7. In Darkness

Ezio slowly brushed the remnants of the vial's contents from his mouth with the back of his hand, somewhat surprised that he felt no immediate repercussions from it. He had no time to question his friend though, for even as he lowered the small container, multiple, solid footfalls entered the courtyard, causing him to look over to them sharply.

At the sight of the elite soldiers, their heavily adorned masks and armor all too familiar to him, he rose automatically to his feet. He had barely done so, however, when he staggered, realizing too late that his legs blatantly refused to support him. With his reflexes significantly dulled, the Assassin only just missed hitting the ground when an arm caught him about the chest.

As he blinked calmly, though a little perplexedly, at the expected darkness collecting at the edges of his vision, he listened to the words quietly spoken into his ear. "Do not worry, the sedative's effects will not last long. Sleep for now, Ezio, I will be nearby."

He had not the ability to respond, and from there, he slid into semi-consciousness, closing his eyes, but continuing to hold onto the world a little stubbornly. It was not complete alertness, in truth, but more of a waking dream; a state with which he was quite familiar, particularly after his recent brush against death.

Distantly, he sensed chain-mailed hands gripping at his arms and hauling him away, though this did not alarm him, detached as he was. The eagle in him did not react to the restraints, and only flared once, involuntarily, as one guard unlatched the hidden blade from his arm.

His flicker of defiance went unacknowledged, however, and he only thought against retaliating violently when he heard Leonardo swiftly speak up again, he requesting the weapon as a subject of study, as something to reverse engineer. Though the words were even and practical, Ezio took them as a reassurance, and knew that his friend would look after his father's memento. At this, his spirit settled again, folding its wings and surrendering itself to the willful blindness.

Time slipped past him in a whisper, and he was somewhat startled as he blinked, and found himself looking upon a different scene altogether. It was dark, quite abruptly so, though it was not the natural shade caused by nightfall, but the blackness of thick stone.

The Assassin lifted his head from the corner he was slumped against, looking around the heavily shadowed room and finding that he could make out very little of it, blinded as he was by the spilled orange of distant torch flames in the adjacent hallway. He allowed time for his sight to adjust, and tensed minutely as the narrow, constricting walls came into focus, a flash of claustrophobia rising in him.

He shifted instinctively, his eagle spirit giving an uneasy flutter, and heard a foreign clatter of metal on either side of him as he did so. Pulling in a slow breath, he placidly lifted his arm, testing the weight of the shackles and fetters that bound him with a rather nonchalant air. They were fitted, though not uncomfortable; the lengths of iron that affixed them to the floor barely enough to allow him to stand. It mattered little – the room he was in would not have let him take more than two steps in any direction anyway.

Ezio leaned back slowly, minding the heavy links as he moved into a more comfortable sitting position, and was a little surprised when he realized that the dull throb at his ribcage and shoulder had abated. He stretched his arm experimentally, relieved that the pains of the gunshot wounds had finally left him. The medically induced sleep had allowed his body to recover more quickly, it seemed. Leonardo had chosen the drug well.

Dipping his head and shadowing his eyes with the white cowl he had evidently been permitted to keep, the Assassin settled his arms onto his bent knees, waiting patiently for his captors to arrive, as he was sure they eventually would.

He had not long to wait, and he tilted his head slightly as he listened to the sound of a nearby, metal-wrought door opening, using the resulting reverberations it caused to gauge that the prison he was being held in was large, though not underground, surprisingly. A tower cell, then.

He counted the myriad of steps that approached shortly after the door had swung shut again, the first two pairs ringing out sharply, armored, likely bodyguards flanking the owner of the third. It was easy to assume who this visitor would be, and the eagle carefully held his temper, stilling the fingers of his left hand as they instinctively itched to release an absent hidden blade.

"I didn't expect your invitation to be so insistent,  _comandante_ ," he commented evenly, speaking up if only to interrupt his arrogant enemy's desire to speak first, and causing the footfalls to pause at the sudden address. Ezio smirked easily up at the younger man standing before him, though he was sure that the darkness was still evident in his eyes, a shallowly roiling bloodlust.

Cesare returned his coolness in kind, though the masked irritation was audible in the tightness of his voice. "Yes, I'm glad you could accept it, Auditore. And I suggest you refer to me as Captain General if you're bothering with titles."

"Oh, a promotion? Should I congratulate you?" His response was light and purposefully mocking.

The Templar's answering smirk was rather fixed, but he nonetheless stepped calmly out from behind the two soldiers, pacing nearer. "Quite a pride you have after you were so easily caught," he remarked, surveying him slowly, scornfully. "Do not forget to whose hands you have fallen."

"I haven't forgotten – and they were not yours," Ezio said bluntly as he met the venom in kind. "You only lash out with your _tools_ , while you hide behind the front lines. Alone, you are merely a child, drunk on power."

The silence following this accusation was almost palpable. "Do not test me, Assassin," the other finally forced out dangerously, his calm breaking, and his gray eyes narrowed. The Papal guards behind him shifted threateningly as well, dogs growling quietly from their master's heels. However, Ezio remained unfazed, merely responding with a grin that was all teeth.

"I have no intention to," he countered dismissively, glancing into his enemy's face and looking away pointedly, as if bored. "It is already clear to me that you are no threat without the protection of your army."

The resulting flare of anger was swiftly stifled, and Cesare approached him with rigid composure, leering through the bars. The Assassin vaguely had the impression that he was trying to be intimidating, thus in response, he rose easily to his feet. The narrow cell only pronounced his own imposing height, and he stepped forward as far as the chains would allow, meeting the challenge and the slitted eyes fearlessly.

"Your words are useless," the Captain General spat, rather bravely standing his ground despite the eagle's glare. "No matter what you say,  _you_  are still the one in a cage, to do with as I please."

A pointed glance and a short nod were enough to signal the two Papal soldiers, one drawing a wheel-lock pistol and pointing it into the cell, and the other taking a key from a satchel at his side to unlock the door. Cesare stepped over the threshold, and Ezio eyed his approach tersely, feeling his eagle spirit keen, and his hands tighten involuntarily into fists. Though he yearned to strike, he knew it was pointless – the chains were too short to allow him to even raise his arms.

"Know this, Auditore," the Templar spoke in a silken hiss, reaching forward quite boldly and setting light fingers upon the bandages around the hooded one's throat in a thinly veiled threat. "I only allow you to live because  _messere_  da Vinci has convinced me of your usefulness. But that can change, just as quickly, should you choose not to cooperate."

"I do not know what you are talking about," he replied in a quiet snarl, shifting back sharply, away from the touch. "For one who speaks so much, you are making no sense."

Cesare drew away a step, a sneer settling at his lips as he regained control over the exchange. "Then let me make it simple for you," he said with mock patience. "The  _ingegnere_  reported that he has seen you – and only you – able to use it properly. He has said that it responded to your touch, as if it deemed you special."

The Assassin's gaze narrowed in realization, but he said nothing, even as he discovered that this man had taken more from his uncle than the life breath in his body. The Captain General folded his arms as he straightened and spoke out commandingly, "You will tell us how to use the Apple of Eden, or we will be forced to extract the method from you."


	8. False Thrall

The dark foreboding at the realization that the Piece of Eden had been taken was lessened somewhat by the almost absurd demand. "How admirable," Ezio jeered after a moment's pause. "You steal a weapon from an enemy, then ask him how it works."

"You speak as if it ever belonged to you," Cesare said disdainfully, frowning and leisurely pacing before him. "If I remember right, you were merely the thief that snatched it from my father's hands after he sponsored the year-long voyage to retrieve it. Besides, I recommend that you remember your current situation before you begin refusing me."

"Did I say I was refusing?" A smirk tugged at his scarred lip as he leaned forward to address the other to his face. "Just hand me the Apple and I'll be more than happy to show you how it works. I guarantee that it will be the last thing you ever see."

The gunshot reverberated overly loud in the narrow space, but Ezio did not shy from it, even as the bullet impacted next to his head and threw shrapnel against his cheek. "Do not threaten the  _padrone_ ," the Papal guard spoke warningly into the cell, glaring at him as he reloaded the pistol. "Or my second shot will not miss."

Shaking his head slightly to banish the ringing in his ears, the Assassin calmly lifted his gaze to meet the masked eyes. "It is as I said," he remarked assuredly. "Seems that even  _you_  think that your Captain General is not much of a threat on his own."

"Do not help me," the younger man quickly shot at his guard, earning a mumbled apology from the addressed man, and a chuckle from the bound eagle. Cesare flicked his attention back to his enemy, his aura a subdued fury. "I am only going to ask you one more time, Auditore. Tell me how the Piece of Eden works."

Ezio tilted his head, regarding him levelly. "And if I do not?"

A sudden pain tore into his ribs, and he bit out a sharp curse, flinching backwards as the Templar drove a fist into his right flank, directly into the wound he had inflicted in Monteriggioni. Ezio retreated a step, feeling the chains about his wrists and ankles slacken a little as he neared their origin at the base of the wall. An idea crossed his mind at this, though he did not allow it to show on his face, and merely turned to shadow his expression with the edge of his hood.

"Then you will be here for a very long time," the Captain General said icily, moving in closer as well as he peered into the other's narrowed, averted eyes. "I understand that birds of prey do not fare well in a cage."

"…Perhaps not," Ezio hissed out lowly, as if subdued, lacing his voice with more pain than he felt and pressing further against the cold stone behind him, though only to draw his enemy in. "But you would think that would warn you not to provoke one."

Abruptly, he lashed out, kicking forward with the narrow range the fetters allowed, and managed to drive his heel into the other's ankle, unbalancing him. Stretching the chains about his arms taut to their limit, he twisted to the side and swept out the foot he had just injured, tripping the Templar completely and sending him into the floor.

The Papal guard who had been instructed not to help hesitated long enough for Ezio to fall to a crouch, reaching forward with one hand to tighten a grip about his enemy's collar and drag him closer. However, here, he miscalculated slightly, and was only able to snarl in frustration as Cesare scrambled backwards across the floor, dodging the Assassin's fingers by mere centimeters as the chains stopped him short.

There was a space of silence, broken only by agitated breaths, before the Captain General gave a wordless growl and staggered to his feet, looking upon the eagle as if he wished to kill him with a glare. The older one slowly lowered his arm and merely offered him an unfeeling smile, watching wordlessly as the other stalked out of the cell, obviously trying to hide his newly acquired limp.

"Tighten his bonds. I don't want that  _bastardo_  to so much as breathe without difficulty," Cesare snapped to one of his bodyguards as he pushed past the iron door and towards the entrance to the tower. "Then summon Micheletto. Tell him to use any means to pry the answers from him – from his half-living corpse if necessary."

One guard hurried to obey the second of the requests, following in the Templar's wake. Ezio watched his prey slip free with a touch of disappointment, but merely straightened with seeming composure, and eyed the remaining Papal guard approaching him. The soldier's swagger was confident and unhurried as he entered the cell, the broadsword at his side jangling the satchel of keys he evidently kept next to his scabbard.

Docile now and conserving his energy, the nobleman did not resist even as the chains at his feet were shortened, his legs bound securely against the wall. However, as the man affixed the shackle about his left wrist to a hook set into the stones, Ezio shifted forward abruptly, right hand snatching out almost desperately towards the hilt of the other's weapon. A somewhat bored swat impacted against his temple, and he faltered with a grunt, his reach failing as he only managed to brush against the pouch set next to the sword.

"Settle yourself, Assassin," the guard spoke nonchalantly, obviously unthreatened by him. "Consider it lucky that you will get a few hours of peace before  _signore_  Micheletto arrives."

The soldier turned his back upon him as soon as he had finished, locking the cell and leaving the immobilized eagle in the dark. Ezio kept his gaze downward until the man had paced out of his direct line of sight, before he lifted his head and idly turned the key he had slipped from the guard's satchel between his fingers. He would only need a moment to maneuver the sliver of metal into his shackle; possibly as soon as the guard shift changed, and allowed a moment of noise for him to unlock the metal binds unnoticed.

Or sooner if his friend's usual tactics were to be expected.

Thus continued the waiting, and the Assassin kept his eyes closed as he stretched out instead with his other senses, listening to the breathing of the prison's lone guard, and anticipating the approaching steps of his next visitor, which he hoped he would recognize. He gauged that the opening of the tower door, along with the time it took for the guard to confirm the person's identity, would be just enough to unlock all of his restraints.

However, this motionless delay stretched for longer than he expected, and he shifted a little uncomfortably, disliking the lack of activity. The eagle of him fluttered with impatience, though he knew by now to stifle his urge to act out blindly. He hated to admit it, but Cesare had been correct that raptors did not fare well behind bars.

The clatter of footfalls up the tower staircase brought such relief that he did not even bother to wait to determine who was approaching. He twisted his wrist, slipping the key into the lock and deftly unlatching it with a dry clack. As he worked swiftly to free the rest of his limbs, he listened to the murmured conversation just down the prison hallway, realizing that he recognized the new voice, though it was not the one he had expected.

Rotating his shoulders to ease the cramp for his awkward position, Ezio settled against the cell wall closest to the prison entrance, peering around its edge past the bars to see who was conversing with his warden. He frowned upon confirming the identity of the one who had come to visit him, none too pleased to see the familiar face.

He hesitated, but returned to his place against the wall, slipping the now-loosened bands of metal back around his wrists to feign helplessness, wary as he was of this visitor. The light steps continued until they stopped before his cell, and he did not even bother to glance in their direction, already expecting the sharp words that were to come.

"Is this out of your utter defiance of anything I tell you?" Machiavelli asked quietly, his tone tinged as usual with annoyance.


	9. Guiding Blind

"If you are only here to spar with me, you are wasting your time," Ezio spoke flatly, looking away with disinterest.

Machiavelli gave an audible huff of irritation, and darted a sidelong glance towards the entrance of the tower, perhaps at the single guard stationed there. Finally, after a pause, he looked at him squarely and jerked his head in a subtle but clear sign for him to approach. "Come, you are fooling no one," he said crisply, his voice carrying in the dead air of the prison.

Ezio frowned, wondering why he was not even attempting to keep his voice down, but obligingly shrugged off the manacles. He took a step forward, carefully staying out of sight of the warden as Machiavelli leaned against the bars.

"It is a shame  _maestro_  da Vinci got to you first, else I would have been the one to gain credit for your capture," he said casually, the drawling monologue distinctly unlike him, and causing the elder Assassin to furrow his brow in a silent question. However, though the other looked upon him steadily, he merely went on in the same tone, "It's actually quite surprising that he was the one to bring you in. He rarely ventures out of the  _castello_ , especially since he's been so busy in that basement workshop of his."

At this point, the eagle realized Machiavelli's intentions, and his eyes narrowed with some suspicion. Why was he willing to risk so much?

The younger one continued, his tone still light, but his gaze meeting Ezio's meaningfully. "Suspicious as that is, though, it seems any conspiracy you were planning with him has failed -  _Padron_  Cesare will be out of your reach by the end of the day. Seems your surrender was for nothing."

There was pause, as if he was waiting for an answering comment, before he shrugged and noted, "You need not speak. Micheletto should be here within a few minutes to loosen your tongue either way. Now, you are on your own."

He pulled away without further comment, and as he withdrew from the bars, Ezio caught a glint of silver falling from his hand into the cell. He swept forward instinctively to catch it, and he immediately recognized the familiar weight of a single throwing knife. He tried to look back up at the other Assassin, but he had already left, exiting the prison on clipped steps.

Slowly, the nobleman settled back and eyed the small weapon a little broodingly. Though he could not yet bring himself to absolve Machiavelli of any blame for the Villa attack, he could not understand why he was almost ever present, helping him – irately perhaps, but helping him all the same. Could he still call this a ruse, a means for him to drop his guard? Or was this, as he so stubbornly refused to accept, simply the acts of an ally, one who stood by him despite his lack of trust?

He had little time to ponder on this, for steps soon resounded once again up the stairwell to the tower prison. Swiftly, he pressed against the far wall of his cell, returning the shackles back about his limbs and concealing the narrow dagger in his palm.

There were no words or taunts this time, and Ezio met the flat black eyes of the new enemy with a measure of curiosity, recognizing the man to be one of those who had been at Cesare's side during the siege. He tilted his chin rather defiantly at the man's scrutiny, making a show of tensing against the supposedly restricting metal bonds. Micheletto answered with a light scoff, the quietest sounds of dark amusement.

As the Templar finally set the key he had taken from the guard into the lock, and pushed open the barred door, the Assassin flashed into motion just as any bird loosed from a cage. Easily slipping free from the shackles, he cleared the distance between them in a lunge, and struck out with the small blade; aiming more to wound, to startle, rather than to kill – he would need a proper weapon for that.

A bloody gash opened across the other's collar and shoulder, and he staggered back with an angry curse, unable to recover his balance quickly enough. Ezio swiftly snatched onto Micheletto's pleated doublet with his left, pivoting behind him to force him into the room in his place. He shut and barred the cell; twisting and almost carelessly tossing away the key that had been left in the lock.

He spared a fleeting smirk at the silent but enraged Templar, before twisting and flicking the throwing knife at the Papal guard just as he began to squeeze the trigger of his  _pistola_. He tore after the streak of metal as it embedded itself through the eye slot of the other's mask, swiftly driving an elbow up into the exposed neck as the soldier threw his head back in a cry. The vertebrae snapped sharply, and the scream choked, half-sounded, in the dying man's throat.

The useless gun tumbled to the stones as the Assassin shifted to catch the corpse before it hit the ground, grunting a little as he lowered the heavy weight of armor to the floor. He rummaged through the collection of keys at the man's side, and selected the one most worn from use – likely that of the entrance to the tower.

Clutching the key in one hand, he straightened and extracted the throwing knife with his other, wiping the blade clean against the guard's sleeve. Though more useful, the enemy's broadsword would only slow him down, given he didn't even possess a scabbard built for it.

As Ezio fit the key into the tower door, relieved as it turned without protest, a voice spoke out in a growl behind him, "You won't get far, Assassin. I promise you that." He did not answer the Templar, merely jerking open the door and striding swiftly out into the bowels of the  _castello_.

He took the winding staircase several steps at a time, glad to finally be in motion again. The air in the narrow passage was just as flat as in the prison, however, not a window in sight. His eagle stretched long unused wings, pining for open sky. However, he could not simply leave, not with so many opportunities granted to him if he stayed.

Even if he could not take the Captain General's life, he would at least strip him of his hope – the way he had spoken, he had appeared to see the Apple as the answer to his troubles, a catalyst for easy power. He would not grant him that opportunity.

Following Machiavelli's advice, he flickered like a phantom through the hallways and made for the lowest levels of the castle, dodging any patrolling guards. Fortunately, the lush carpets masked his steps, and the shadows of the excessive fineries along the corridors were more than enough to hide him. Despite this, he knew he did not have much time until Micheletto was missed, or perhaps until the guard's body was found; thus he sprinted as quickly as he was able, eyes roaming and analyzing every coming turn or twist of the hallways.

The rich tapestries and hangings seemed to be identical through every corridor, and he found himself guided more by instinct than anything. Occasional flashes of the lightening dawn and horizon greeted him through the passing windows, and it was only by these was he sure he was making progress, and not merely running in circles.

Yet another downward sloping staircase brought him to a floor where the decor about him seemed to degrade into disuse, shedding their flamboyancy for neat, workable stones in a mirror image of the halls in the tower above. It seemed he had finally made it to the basement, one that was likely at least half-submerged by the Tevere, given the chill coming off the walls.

Oddly, it was scent and sound that led him the rest of the way from there. In the damp air, the familiar smells carried to him easily, scenting almost comfortingly of linseed oil and heavy inks, of wood and twisted canvas. Leonardo's workshop had moved through multiple cities over the years he had known him, yet the mark he left upon it, the air of lightness it brought, remained the same.

He stepped forward to open the door without hesitation, but managed to catch himself, realizing he was moving purely on habit. He paused, reminding himself that he was on enemy territory, and wondering a little belatedly if he should be wary of the fact that he had not yet heard the slightest sound of alarm or panic, even if it had been several minutes since he had slipped from the tower. He frowned tersely, hesitating, his fingers lingering upon the solid wood before him.

Ezio debated on whether he should wait, should perhaps hide nearby to try and ascertain who awaited him here. He had no means of knowing for sure whether the workshop was – as the familiarity of it almost deceptively promised – actually safe.

However, a split second later, the decision was made for him.


	10. Puppet

The eagle of him flared, warning him into motion just in time. Ezio whirled to the left, narrowly dodging the lanced metal, and the scattered splinters of wood as the halberd missed him, and drove deeply instead through the doorway. Dark eyes narrowed as he finally caught sight of the Papal guard who had been lurking in the corridor behind him, evidently expecting that he would be distracted, would be coaxed into a false sense of security. Had he been waiting for him?

Pushing reasoning to the back of his mind, he charged forward a step with his throwing knife in hand, attempting to slip into the blind spot of the man's long-ranged weapon; however the other was ready, and merely deflected his blade arm away with an ornate bracer. The Assassin regained his balance quite easily, but the lull in his assault had been enough for the other to extract and adjust his grip on the halberd.

He gave an audible snarl as the length of the haft drove into him, the wood connecting solidly against his chest and forcing him back against the workshop door. The soldier threw his considerable weight into him, half-pinning his arms and painfully restricting his breath. He twisted and retaliated fiercely, lashing out in accurate stabs into every thin point of armor he could reach, drawing blood from leg and elbow and rib.

Though not lethal, the pain was enough to stagger the other, and in the space of the distraction, Ezio fumbled for the handle of the door.

The entrance gave way, and both guard and Assassin fell into the dimly lit workshop, the two hitting the floor one after the other. The nobleman rolled away from his opponent with difficulty, knocking into the leg of one of the many tables as he did so and scattering a sheaf of papers. He stumbled to his feet nonetheless, raising the throwing knife close to his chest as he held his patience, waiting rigidly for an opening.

The Papal soldier had lurched to a stand as well, and threw aside a table of wooden components for a clearer shot. Ezio ducked the sweep, his own weapon leaving his hand in a glimmer as he flicked it upwards into the other's chin.

The knife struck, though not deeply enough, half the blade ricocheting against the edge of the guard's helmet, and only managing to draw a narrow line across the exposed flesh of his throat. The Assassin breathed an oath as he swiftly evaded the countering kick, searching for the fallen blade, but only realizing that he could not see it amongst the mess they had already scattered. Instead, he wove deeper into the dark workshop to try and find a second weapon.

The halberd caught him in the arm as he faltered by a wall he had barely seen in the darkness, tearing through his sleeve, but fortunately little else. The Assassin gave up on the search and turned instead towards his enemy, sidestepping the following strike and latching onto the haft as it passed him.

He jerked against it, but the guard did not cede his weapon so easily, kicking out and throwing the slighter man away. Ezio staggered back a step but was not dissuaded, and he snatched again at the pole blade as it just narrowly missed goring his chest.

The struggle for purchase of the halberd stretched longer this time, the eagle stubbornly refusing to release its prey. The two of them up-ended many a table or wooden contraption as they turned and strained against each other's grip, neither willing to grant the other an advantage. Ezio kept his attention focused upon the enemy, though passed a silent apology to his friend, whose workshop he was currently destroying.

Abruptly, the Papal guard changed tactics, twisting the weapon instead, and aiming the bladed edge into the Assassin's flank. Realizing the danger, he leapt back in time to keep the tip from laying open his ribs, but was not able to evade the blow altogether. He bit back a hiss of pain as it glanced him, slicing a narrow laceration into his right thigh.

He stumbled to a halt, favoring the leg, and lifted his eyes in time to find the crossed edge of the halberd leveled threateningly to his face. He straightened slowly and began to lift his hands as if in surrender, but instead abruptly lunged forward, slipping past the weapon and driving his elbow into the other man's chest.

A grunt, and again they fell, Ezio throwing his weight upon the man's wrist to disarm him, and hearing the halberd bounce away to become lost in the clutter. They tumbled apart and raced each other to regain their feet.

Both unarmed now, they grappled, and though the other had an advantage of size and strength, the eagle struck out with precision, aiming for the small injuries he had managed to lay with his throwing knife, and eating away at the guard's endurance.

He held out for as long as he could, however, the lack of proper rest or sustenance was beginning to catch up with him. A kick in the leg finally downed him, and the Assassin fell against yet another table, tumbling to the ground onto his back, along with the scattering of objects he had upset.

A heavy knee was suddenly pressed into his stomach and a hand into his throat, and Ezio choked out a snarl as he latched onto the guard's wrist. He fought viciously to free himself, wincing as the chain-mailed fingers sealed off his breathing and tore open the scabbed gashes on his neck. However, the Papal guard's sheer bulk was enough to keep him down, and he found his thoughts and vision beginning to blur, the eagle of him screeching wildly as it was dragged from the sky.  _M… Merda_ … he couldn't…

Through his failing sight, Ezio caught a glint of gold, and he sluggishly wondered if it was merely from his oxygen-deprived delirium, until he felt something metal roll and bump against his shoulder. He turned his head slightly, blinking a little perplexedly at the sphere that had evidently been one of the many things he had knocked off the table.

He did not spare a chance to think on the convenience of it, and snatched at the orb of silver humming gently against the floorboards, feeling the sun-like lines flare under his fingers. The guard above him faltered in surprise at the sudden light, and the Assassin lashed out with the familiar, ethereal power.

The golden aura slithered into the air like a serpent, and the Papal guard fell back with a howl as it passed through him, he gripping at his head in sudden agony. Ezio coughed violently as he was released, stumbling away from the figure writhing on the floor, and realizing distantly that his flare of self-preservation may have overdone the effects a little.

The light from the Apple fell into a self-satisfied hush as the soldier died, scarlet blood dripping steadily from the slits in his facemask. Silence fell again, and the Assassin pulled in a shaky breath as he forced himself to his feet, wavering and seeking a nearby desk for support. He lifted an unsteady hand to the bruises and stained bandages about his neck, swallowing hard in an attempt to clear it. His head pounded relentlessly, perhaps from the lack of air, perhaps from the strength sapped by the Piece of Eden.

As such, it took him a few seconds to hear the movement from the corner of the shadowed room, and several seconds more to recognize the figures pacing out into the light. Ezio looked upon them all with hollow eyes, his concentration still broken, and realized dully that they had been observing the entire ordeal.

"Well done, Auditore," Cesare said with a smirk, applauding him. "Generous of you to give us a demonstration. It seems  _messere_  da Vinci wasn't lying after all."


	11. Borrowed Wings

Ezio could not bring himself to move, even as he comprehended the danger, saw the Papal guards hovering at his enemy's shoulder. Merely straightening into a stand made his sight veer nauseatingly, and he tightened his grip on the Apple a little convulsively in an attempt to keep focused. Darkness tunneled his vision, threatening to take him completely, thus he shook his head to clear it, his eagle beating frantic wings upon the ground. He simply refused to be caged again.

Cesare was pacing towards him, and the Assassin drew away from him sharply, keeping his distance. As he backed towards the wall, he felt but accepted a stab of pain from his injured leg, almost welcoming the ache that roused his senses.

The Templar laughed at the craven reaction, but only received a low snarl in response. Ezio's eyes were narrowed, but his angered glare wavered, barely intimidating as the fatigue shook his stance. He gritted his teeth and raised the artifact again, brandishing the only weapon left to him despite realizing at the back of his mind that attempting to use it again could very well kill him where he stood.

"Now, now, don't try anything brash," the Captain General spoke almost soothingly, though the haughty smirk remained fixed upon his face. "I'll need you alive for a little while longer, at least until I can be sure I can use this Piece of Eden for myself."

"Then come take it," Ezio snapped out, his voice admittedly rough from the strangulation he had narrowly escaped.

Unexpectedly, Cesare swiftly closed the distance between them, facing the challenge head on as he reached out for the artifact. Instinctively, the nobleman retaliated, feeling the power of the Apple swell and whip into the air towards his enemy, tightening ethereal bonds upon his very mind and bringing--

A moment of blackness, and Ezio hit the ground painfully on his knees with no memory of losing his balance, gasping as his heart fluttered like a dying bird's. He fought to breathe, and as he realized that the Piece of Eden had been snatched almost effortlessly from his hand, he surged to his feet again, the flare of indignation lending him a moment of strength.

The Templar easily stood his ground against the lunge, only smirking as he held out the artifact in a counter. However, Ezio caught the confusion passing over the other's face as the Apple did nothing, did not so much as flash. The Assassin's drawn back punch connected, his fist driving satisfyingly against jaw.

Ezio recovered his stance and reached for the falling orb of silver, but his fingers only met empty air as a guard slammed into him in turn, forcing him bodily away from the  _padrone_. The Assassin grunted as he was thrown back against the wall, though he managed to catch himself before his head cracked against the stones. He let out a breath as he grew still, trying to ease the involuntary tremors in his body and the heaving of his chest. Nevertheless, he could not keep back a quiet chuckle at the Templar's enraged expression.

"What is this?" Cesare demanded of him angrily, nursing the side of his face from behind the safety of his guards.

"I do not know what you are talking about," the eagle commented, a smirk – though one slightly out of bravado – lifting his lip.

The Captain General snatched the Piece of Eden from the floor and regarded it with some frustration. "My father said he was able to use it before  _you_  got your hands on it in the Cappella Sistina," he snarled, his glare fixing upon him again and almost reminding Ezio of a child in a tantrum. "You did something to it in that Vault, didn't you? Answer me!"

"No, I did not," he responded calmly, mostly truthfully, pushing himself slowly upright as the exhaustion gentled to a bearable level. "You just aren't using it properly."

A metallic scrape rang out menacingly as Cesare drew his blade, and advanced upon him. "Then enlighten me," he said with strained patience, his mouth set in a flat line.

The eagle only met his eyes levelly, unafraid of the edge touching his already heavily marked throat. "Unfortunately, merely asking will get you nowhere. Have you never interrogated someone before?" he questioned, mocking. "I'd recommend that you threaten to kill me, but you've already established that those would be empty words."

The other bristled at the belittling statements, and seemed ready to act violently upon the suggestion, but he managed to restrain himself, albeit forcibly. Cesare sated himself by sharply retracting and sheathing his rapier, leaving a small cut and a quiet hiss of pain from the Assassin. He turned his back upon Ezio to pace, stirring up the clutter across the workshop floor while he evidently pondered his next move.

As he did so, a young woman's voice spoke up. " _Padrone_. If I may?"

Ezio turned towards the one he had not noticed lurking behind the other guards, cocking his head slightly and recognizing the courtesan who had confronted him shortly after he had tracked down Leonardo. The new agent in charge of keeping an eye on his friend, he supposed.

Cesare looked towards her and gave a short nod in acknowledgment, his anger still simmering. "What is it, Fiora?"

Ezio glanced between them, wondering briefly if this was the Captain General's woman, in the way he seemed to grant her at least a measure of respect.

"Perhaps it is not in the method of the wielder, but in the wielder itself," Fiora commented, drawing close to Cesare and laying a hand onto the rounded metal, which remained equally unresponsive to her touch. "This 'Apple' was glowing as well just as you took it from Mario Auditore. Could it choose who it serves?"

Both looked towards the Assassin as if seeking confirmation, but he remained silent, meeting the scrutiny rather enigmatically. From here, the two continued to converse, darting several glances and accusations in his direction, but receiving no input. Cesare began to pace again, out of irritation perhaps.

The eagle eyed him jadedly, but a sudden flash of metal upon the ground caught his attention, and he recognized the throwing blade he had dropped mere minutes ago. Finally, some luck.

He darted a gaze towards Cesare's brooding glare, then to the servants who stood at attention, patiently awaiting their master's decision. The throwing knife was a weapon, true, but it only granted him a single shot, not favorable odds considering the amount of enemies. Given he could probably take out the Captain General from this proximity, it would be the last thing he would ever do. Was vengeance truly worth that?

Indecisive, Ezio kept his gaze downward and shaded by his hood, though fixed upon the small knife as the Templar unknowingly shifted it closer to his reach. As he watched, the light from the basement's high windows cast an odd, jagged shadow upon the ground and he frowned at it, glancing up to search for its source.

Of course. This was Leonardo's  _bottega_ , after all. If there was one thing he expected in his friend's workspace, it was this.

His escape route was clear to him now, but his eagle screeched doubt, still demanding spilled blood. The Assassin scowled minutely, but as glanced up to meet the cold gray eyes of his uncle's murderer, he decided. This was not the time. If Mario was to be avenged, death would be too easy for this one.

He waited for a moment when the two Templars had turned towards each other, the briefest of spans when most of the Papal guards had looked away from him, and abruptly the eagle flicked into a dive. He snatched up the weapon at his enemy's feet, recoiling again to his position against the wall as soon as he had it, and throwing it skywards just as Cesare began to look towards him in startled rage.

The blade cut neatly through the air, coming to a quivering halt in the wooden rafters, though not before severing many of the knotted ropes binding the bat-like contraption to the ceiling. The flying machine fell with almost surreal leisure, slipping slowly free from the remainder of the cords before plummeting alarmingly, the weight of wood ribs and tightened canvas shattering down with great tumult.

Ezio was in motion again, stepping upon the outspread wings towards where the Captain General had narrowly thrown himself out of the way. He stooped to snatch up the Piece of Eden and growl out swiftly, "I will be back for you."

He was running before the dust had even begun to settle, before any present could raise a cry of alarm. He had cleared the still open doorway before the first guard had realized his absence.

The winding hallways of the  _castello_  suddenly appeared so much more constricting, the maze-like passages only serving to tear away his stamina as he hit several dead ends and locked doors, hearing the reverberating steps of his enemies in pursuit around every other corner. The Assassin wrestled in another clipped breath as he pounded up yet another flight of stairs, the Apple a dead weight against his side, and his right leg beginning to numb, the cut bleeding badly from the movement and strain of muscles.

He fled around a sharp turn and lost his balance as the limb gave out, his breath hitching almost painfully in his throat, when a hand latched abruptly onto his arm. Though this allowed him to keep his feet, the memory of capture and restraints set his eagle into a frenzy, and Ezio jerked away as if burned, colliding full into a second man as he reacted violently to free himself.

" _Cazzo_ -! Ezio, settle down, we don't have time for this!"

The Assassin blinked as he recognized the irritable voice, as well as the familiar arms that had caught him when he had flinched away.

"Machiavelli? Leonar--?"

"No time,  _amico mio_ ," the artist said briskly, though he offered him a slight smile as he pushed him upright again and pressed a familiar bracer into his left hand. "Go with Niccolo, quickly, before the guards arrive."

The hand was around his arm again, pulling him towards the end of the hallway, which evidently led out onto the battlements. Ezio stumbled visibly in his wake, the fatigue pressing upon him again, thus the other Assassin gave a quiet oath and pulled his arm over his shoulder, supporting him as they hurried out into the open dawn air.

The feeling was familiar, and the eagle frowned as he remembered the man who had pulled him away from the crushed and burning villa, had dragged him to safety when he had been felled by the bullet wounds.

His words were slow as he spoke, "Machiavelli… At Monteriggioni, after the siege, were you the one who--?"

"No," the younger one interrupted swiftly, his sarcasm flat. "How could I be the one who saved you when I was busy so _treacherously_ betraying the Order to the Templars?"

Neither said anything for a span even as they neared the stables, where the horses and promise of escape came into view just below them. "I'm sorry," Ezio finally offered, his voice clipped.

The answer was still cynical, though perhaps a little less so. "As am I."


	12. Wind and Arrows

There was little time for further exchange of words, for even as they neared the end of the southern  _castello_  wall, they realized that their escape route was not as assured as they had thought. The pair of mounted guards below caught sight of them and raised the alarm, calling in the contingents of archers stationed all along the ramparts.

Machiavelli cursed roundly, but continued to run as the men behind and in front of them opened fire. However, to Ezio, the snap of loosed bowstrings and shouted orders from the higher ranked soldiers seemed little more than an insignificant storm of noise, his thoughts still weighted with the ordeal he had just escaped. As such, his reflexes were sluggish, and he was only blankly surprised as the other Assassin halted abruptly and released the supporting grip on his arm.

His eagle stirred enough to cry its protest as Machiavelli let him fall. The momentum tumbled him forward, and the injury and exhaustion successfully dragged him to the ground. Cringing from a sharp pain in the gash across his leg, he shot an affronted glare in the younger one's direction, but only saw the other's back as he drew his crescent blade in time to intercept several arrow hafts threatening to drive into them both.

Shaking his head forcibly and realizing the danger they had gotten themselves into, the nobleman pushed himself upright. His sight wavered minutely as he did, the eagle of him fluttering its weariness, but he ignored it with grim promise. Rest could wait.

He jammed his hidden blade onto his arm, swiftly tightening the leather binds with fingers and teeth as he hurried to aid his Brother, who was quickly becoming overwhelmed by the incoming guards. The number of soldiers had swelled within seconds, with several resorting to their swords and running ahead of their archer comrades; racing each other to bring down the escaping raptors.

Ezio fired a shot into the first man who attempted to raise a blade to Machiavelli, catching him in the side of the neck and causing him to stagger wildly into his fellows as he bled. The other Assassin smoothly took advantage of the tangled confusion, cutting down several guards as they stared in horror at the man whose throat had been so neatly torn out.

The eagle staggered to his feet, snarling against the thread of weakness in his legs as he turned towards the fresh wave of enemies coming at them from the other side, and emptied his hidden gun into their front ranks. However, even just keeping his stance felt a struggle, and the kicked recoil each time he fired grew ever more difficult to control. He finally slipped backwards a step as a quarrel narrowly missed his outstretched arm, distracting him and causing his last bullet to fly wide.

Likely noticing his imbalance, Machiavelli was suddenly behind him, his back pressing against his to keep him upright. Ezio turned his head slightly, meeting the other's grim expression past the edge of his hood.

"There are too many," the younger one spoke shortly, his breathing a little labored as the guards hemmed in all around them. "We have no choice but to risk making for the stables."

A brief nod was enough of an answer, and together they lunged for the battlements, taking the leap and narrowly dodging the pincer-like lash of the enclosing soldiers. They landed one after the other, startling the resident horses and scattering their feed; but no sooner had they pulled free of the straw, were they forced to meet the second threat.

One of the horsemen had spurred his mount into a charge, leaning down in the saddle to sweep at the pair of Assassins with a narrow blade. Ezio stumbled back against the wall, and evaded the weapon with barely a few centimeters to spare, but Machiavelli was not so fortunate.

The younger Assassin cried out as the sword edge lay open his shoulder, even as he moved to dodge it. He dropped his scimitar and knocked into the side of one of the stable horses as he fell back towards the corner of the enclosure. Ezio's eyes narrowed when he saw the second mounted guard rushing in to finish the kill, and he tore forward a little brazenly in retaliation, leaping and snatching onto the beast's mane and bridle as it passed him.

The steed whinnied its indignity, unbalanced by the weight of the second man suddenly clinging to its neck, and the guard's stab lost its mark as the horse swung wildly to the right. Though Ezio was thrown clear as the beast thrashed, Machiavelli had managed to slip out from the corner he had been hedged into, snatching up his sword with his good arm. An accurate slash caught the mounted guard between the ribs as he attempted to calm his still shying mount, and he too fell.

"Hurry up, Ezio," the younger Assassin barked out, pulling himself up onto the vacated saddle.

The eagle gave an impatient oath and climbed to his feet yet again, a hand gripping the open wound on his leg as he turned to look for the first horseman. By now, the archers on the battlements had regrouped, and the loosed volleys of arrows had sent the resident horses into a stampeded frenzy within the enclosed space, the many jostling hooves and flanks both protecting and hindering the injured Assassin.

The confusion of the fleeing beasts disoriented him for a moment, and he caught sight of the remaining mounted guard too late, the enemy having taken the opportunity to gather for a second charge. He was upon him before Ezio had a chance to react.

However, perhaps by chance or fate, a nearby stallion reared just as the soldier's blade lanced towards him, the white steed braying out a challenge to the oncoming horse and causing it to prance to one side in panic. It lost its footing, sending both itself and its rider onto the floor, where they were promptly lost under the mass of scattering horses.

Ezio looked towards the white horse in some surprise, realizing that he recognized the deep eyes, and the scar across its long cheek where a Papal soldier's halberd had caught it during a battle at the gates of Firenze. The beast snorted once, perhaps with a measure of satisfaction, and the Assassin pulled himself onto its back without a second thought, glad to be free of the press of stampeding bodies.

Machiavelli was quite a distance ahead of him at this point, fighting to open the gate of the stables while simultaneously ducking the loosed arrows seeking to stop him. The older one rushed to his side to help, and together, the Assassins broke through the barred lock. They fled into the busy streets of the Vaticano district, followed closely by the veritable flood of horses.

Though they turned towards the Ponte Sant'Angelo, they found that the guards posted along its length had evidently been waiting for them, likely alerted by the noise and shouts that had been resonating from within the  _castello_  walls. Ezio hesitated upon seeing the layered ranks of soldiers, slowing his horse to a canter as he began to consider heading deeper into the Vatican instead.

"Keep moving," Machiavelli spoke in a swift command as he wheeled his horse to the left edge of the bridge, indicating that they should separate to offer the enemy two targets to chase.

Given little choice, Ezio mirrored him, heading for the far right of the wide pass as a wall of spears seemed to rise to meet him, wishing he had thought to take one of the fallen guard's long swords. His horse nickered in distress as the first halberd narrowly missed impaling its chest, but the Assassin nimbly caught hold of the passing haft, gripping onto the base of the blade as his steed's momentum allowed him to tear the weapon from the guard's grip.

Armed now, he swept the pole blade to one side, scattering and narrowly missing a group of red-robed cardinals, and cutting into the throat of a nearby soldier. He withdrew the long weapon with difficulty, feeling but ignoring the burn of fatigue in his arm as he caught a second man in the face, the force keeling him backwards.

He searched for his fellow Assassin the moment he had cleared the three arches of the bridge, pulling the bloodied halberd close to his chest and out of the way. Machiavelli had nearly made it through as well, but seemed to be hampered by having to use his left arm, his sword arm evidently still disabled from his injury. Ezio turned his horse back to help him, but the enemy soldiers did not grant him the slightest reprieve, and half a dozen of them pushed through the crowd towards him.

Drawing back his arm, he drove the spear down powerfully into the chest of the nearest guard, relinquishing the impaled blade and reaching to snatch the long sword from him instead. However, a second man managed to wound his white stallion in the haunch as he attempted to take the lighter weapon, the beast whinnying and all but throwing him from its back as it kicked out at the offender.

As he fought to keep his balance, a shape passed abruptly into his peripheral vision, and he was startled as he recognized the hooded one approaching him, mounted on a dark steed. With him, he caught sight of flashes of figures darting through the throng of people, stabbing into and fleeing from the pursuing guards with as much ease as cutting a man's coin purse.

"Again, it seems that you've managed to rouse an entire city, Ezio," la Volpe commented crisply as his thieves made short work of the contingent of soldiers, he grabbing the white horse's bridle and pulling it with him as he urged his own mount towards an alleyway.

"Wait, Volpe," the nobleman said hurriedly, unable to keep the other from pulling him away. "Machiavelli is-"

"-about to die," the other finished for him dispassionately. "Yes, I know. However, him falling to the Borgia's men should serve its purpose just as well as if you or I killed him."

"What? No, you don't understand," Ezio snapped, gripping the older man's arm and shoving it away to allow him to regain control of his own steed. "You were wrong, Machiavelli is not a traitor. He was not with the Borgia during the siege - it must have been someone else who told them how to break through the defenses."

"That is not enough to prove his innocence," la Volpe remarked, his tone flat, easily moving to block the younger one from returning to the bridge. "We have no evidence that absolves him."

"But neither do we have evidence against him," he snarled out impatiently. "Would you rather we found out whether or not he is guilty  _after_  he dies?"

"He killed Mario, Ezio," the older Assassin spoke simply, the flash in his violet eyes dangerous. "You are the only one who cannot see that."

Giving an exasperated breath, Ezio simply turned his steed to move around the other, but he was only intercepted again. By now, he saw that the fox's eyes were narrowed, a threat heavy in the air.

"Do not test me. I will do what I must to keep you from throwing away your life for such filth."


	13. Enclosed

"You do not need to threaten me, Volpe," Ezio said slowly, admittedly guarded as he saw the unfamiliar flash of anger in the other's eye. This was not like him.

"I am only looking out for you," the brown-hooded one responded irately, absently signaling his men with a swept gesture of one arm while he spoke. The eagle watched a little warily as the thieves slipped past them in the narrow alleyway, obediently scattering into the maze of side roads. One young thief in particular brushed quite close to him, jostling him accidentally in the confined space.

An unexpected lance of pain tore through his leg and he bit out a quiet snarl, feeling the protest from the freshest of his wounds. He had been ignoring it during the escape, but now it seemed to have aggravated beyond his strength of will to stifle it, weighing his body with a weakness that frustrated more than pained him. His white steed shied slightly, snorting as it responded to his flaring incitement.

"Get out of my way," Ezio finally barked out angrily, his patience gone, and the irritation at his own shortcomings only stoking his temper. "Do not help me if you do not wish to, but I'm going back-"

His eagle spirit was barely able to shriek a warning as the streak of a blade cut towards him, and he jerked backwards in the saddle to avoid it narrowly. A tight curse slipped from him as the drastic movement tilted his vision sickeningly, his balance not helped by his horse bucking slightly in equal alarm at the flashed rapier.

It was only as he hit the ground that he realized the warmth of fresh crimson staining the edge of his robes, the laceration on his thigh apparently having steadily bled him out over the course of his flight. He repeated the oath under his breath as he momentarily faltered, before forcing himself to his feet, absently clutching his injury and not meeting la Volpe's doubtlessly smug expression.

"You never learn," the elder Assassin remarked as he looked down at him, calmly sheathing his long sword again. "You've always neglected your limitations."

"Do you understand that if Machiavelli dies, it will be you who breaks the Creed?" he only growled out in response, undeterred from his previous protests. His stance was locked, he fighting to stay upright even as his gaze wandered to the entrance of the alley, through which the sounds of continuing battle could still be heard.

La Volpe said nothing for a span, before he replied coldly, "I do not care. Did you know that Machiavelli so arrogantly took the title of leader of the Order before your uncle was even buried? He is the only one among us with a motivation to have him killed."

"Perhaps, but we cannot know for sure," Ezio snapped with some exasperation, dark eyes narrowed. He gave a huff of impatience and rushed forward a little brashly, making to slip past la Volpe's dark mare, but he was startled as hands fell suddenly upon his shoulders from behind, and dragged him back.

He lashed out instinctively with his hidden blade, only just missing the one who had snatched onto his left sleeve as he leapt away. The man recovered swiftly and grabbed at him again, tightening a hold around his blade's bracer, while a second hurried to immobilize his other arm.

"Keep him here a moment, for his own good," the older Assassin said quite dismissively to the pair of thieves, who were struggling a little to keep a hold on the indignant eagle.

" _Volpe_ -!" His enraged snarl was interrupted by a swift word from the other.

"I will go to aid our supposed Brother, but first answer me this," he said flatly, earning a little calm from Ezio as he stilled and looked up at him with a measure of suspicion. "Think back. Could there be any ulterior reason for Machiavelli to help you escape? I don't think your opinion of him will be the same if you realize his intentions."

He only scowled in response, practically hissing, "No, I can think of nothing."

"What happened just before you escaped?" la Volpe pressed, evidently unsatisfied with the answer. "Were you able to kill Cesare Borgia?"

"No, not yet, but I was able to recover the Apple," the nobleman replied impatiently. He paused to shove one of the thieves off his shoulder and dart a dangerous glare at the other, wordlessly warning him off, before continuing, "I would not have been able to without Machiavelli's help."

The older one seemed honestly surprised at this revelation, but this quickly turned to doubt. "Where is it then?"

"It's…"

His sudden silence was enough of an answer to la Volpe's question, and Ezio found he could say nothing as he touched his belt and realized that the satchel in which he had placed the Piece of Eden was missing. Abruptly, he remembered how Machiavelli had pulled his arm over his shoulder as they had crossed the  _castello_  battlements, his other hand braced against his side. It would have been easy for him to take it.

The older Assassin raised a brow at him, studying his stoic expression. "Are you still convinced I should go rescue him?"

He said nothing, almost frantically trying to remember when he had last had the Apple. The flurry of the escape had pushed all thought of it from his mind, and he could very well have simply lost it during the confusion of the battle, or even as he rode across the Ponte Sant'Angelo. He could not jump to conclusions.

"Yes," he said crisply, meeting the other's gaze with stubborn resolve. "Even if he did take the Piece of Eden, the retribution for his crimes should come from the blade of an Assassin, not from our enemies."

La Volpe frowned, the hesitance to comply written across his features, before Ezio snarled out in a sharp command, "Go help him, Volpe. I am not asking."

His eyes flashed with the narrowed glare of his eagle, and though his stance remained unsteady, unmitigated authority nevertheless rang in his tone. The older one looked upon him for a moment, the violet eyes unfathomable, before he turned his steed and set off towards the bridge at a gallop.

The nobleman gave a quiet sigh as he watched him go, aware of the two thieves who were still standing at his sides, and watching him now with a measure of concern. He was admittedly exhausted, distractedly wondering when he would ever earn a moment of sleep not brought about by drugs or injury.

A gentle nudge against the edge of his hood startled him slightly, and he looked over to meet his stallion's dark eyes, it evidently offering its support. Knowing that – if all went well – the other two could come tearing into the alleyway at any moment, thus he pulled himself onto his horse's back, a little irately waving off any assistance offered by la Volpe's men.

The thieves disappeared into the recesses of the shadowed side street, vanishing easily into the familiar passes, and leaving Ezio to stiffly await his Brothers' return. A headache surfaced in the silence, as he had little more to focus on than the complaints of his own failing body. With some annoyance, he sated his grounded eagle with thoughts that he would have an opportunity to rest soon.

Sure enough, the sudden clamor of hooves began to reverberate through the alley long before the horses themselves came into sight, accompanied by the shouts of the expected, pursuing soldiers. Pulling in a readied breath, the nobleman swiftly pulled his own steed around, preparing to follow.

The shapes shot past him and he urged his horse forward to match the pace, glancing between the two Assassins as he caught up to them. Either forcibly or by necessity, la Volpe was leading the younger Assassin's horse, holding it by the reins much as he had done with Ezio's a few moments earlier. Machiavelli meanwhile was holding the wound upon his shoulder closed, and seemed to be nursing a second injury to his flank, but at least he was alive. However, Ezio also noticed that he seemed to be avoiding his eye, and he wondered briefly if la Volpe had said something to him.

This thought did not linger though as a rain of crossbow bolts suddenly filled the air all about them, catching at the edges of their clothes and startling their horses as the shots impacted the stones with great tumult. Luckily, however, the pass was narrow, not allowing more than a couple of pursuing horsemen to fire at a time without risking hitting their comrades. The three did not slow, silently weathering the minor injuries they received from the volleys.

The streets of the western Centro district seemed a veritable labyrinth, and Ezio found himself beginning to be dizzied from the sheer amount of sharp turns and unexpected drops onto lower streets, a vertigo not at all helped by the wound still bleeding freely into his robes. His vision dipped unexpectedly into darkness, and he shook his head forcefully, only just managing to snatch back onto consciousness.

However, this lapse of concentration was enough, and he realized that he had fallen behind, left alone only with tight walls and the pounding of hooves in all directions. He murmured a weary curse and slipped into his eagle's vision, attempting to pick up on the trail of gold that would lead him to safety, but this only proved to further threaten his attempts to remain awake, and he quickly abandoned it.

Left with little other choice, he took off in a random direction, hearing his white steed nickering its own collecting exhaustion. Blackness lay coiled at the edges of his vision, and ever threatened to take him, the eagle struggling to take flight and escape the blades flashing mere feet behind him.


	14. Twisted Path

The white stallion tossed its head in irritation after he directed it into yet another dead end, and Ezio cursed as he realized that he had thoroughly lost his sense of direction. For all he knew, he was riding right back towards the  _castello_ , and into the spears of the waiting soldiers.

The Assassin glanced back and, upon sighting the horsemen turning the corner, fled through a narrow gap between two buildings; urging his mount into the constricting space despite its protests. The horse's lips were streaked with froth by now, and he silently apologized to it, knowing that it was not used to maneuvering through such tight pathways.

He attempted to remember if he had passed this way before, but the crumbling red brick walls of the district all seemed the same, cutting into the sky and blocking any chance of him sighting familiar landmarks to reclaim his bearings. He scowled wordlessly. At this rate, he would run himself into the ground before the guards even reached him.

Left with little choice, he leaned forward in the saddle, quietly murmuring, "Run on,  _amico_. Give me a little time."

Despite realizing his steed would not understand the request, he nevertheless hoped it would at least lead his pursuers far enough to lose his trail. Gritting his teeth grimly to brace against the expected ache, he slid abruptly from his horse's back, clinging to its neck for support as he ran alongside it a few steps before ducking sideways into an arched entryway.

The weakness in his right leg almost felled him as he stumbled to a halt, swiftly pressing his back against the jagged ruins rising up around him. As the sound of a multitude of hoof falls swelled and faded, he let out a breath, sliding wearily onto his haunches and impatiently rubbing the threatening darkness from his eyes. The eagle of him fluttered restlessly, head already under a wing, but forbidden from sleep by a rousing storm. He was not safe here.

" _Ehi._ _Messere_."

The sudden presence alarmed him, but he had not the energy to lash out, and only lifted his head to glower in the new enemy's direction. However, all that greeted him was the sight of a young man perched on the dilapidated second floor of the building he had sought refuge in, a hand stretched out to offer him a path to the raised tier.

The Assassin tilted his head slightly, recognizing him as one of la Volpe's thieves – indeed, it was a little difficult to forget him, as he had been the one who had irritatingly jostled his injury in the alleyway.

It did not take long for him to accept that he needed the assistance, thus he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the weight of blood pulling down on the tails of his robe. He took the height at a run, leaping off against a chunk of rubble and seizing the thief's outstretched hand.

The boy had taken off at a sprint nearly as soon as Ezio had cleared the ledge; evidently keen on leading him to the city guild. He silently hoped for archer-less rooftops along the path towards it, before hurrying to catch up.

They moved towards the Antico district, using the neglected peaks and ledges of the structures that made up the labyrinth of side alleys, and flying easily over the guards that lingered below, lost in their own search. The eagle set his mouth in a flat line as he fought to keep in motion, refusing to succumb to his own bodily weakness. Pushing himself would likely have some rather serious consequences, but he was determined to continue for as long as he was able, his eagle spirit stubborn.

They came to a halt several minutes later atop the wide expanse of a building by the Tiber, the young thief apparently realizing that he needed to catch his breath. Ezio turned his back upon the other, perhaps a little bitterly, and fell to one knee to bind his neglected wound before it bled him completely. Slicing a notch into the material of his cape with a blade, he neatly tore a length of it to use as bandages.

As he finished staunching the bleeding of the long gouge, he paused and realized quite belatedly that he had seen this thief somewhere else before. Even as this crossed his mind, his eagle spirit hackled abruptly, shrieking out as it felt the familiar aura of a concealed enemy. At this point, all he could muster was an exasperated sigh.  _Merda_.

A cold short blade had been slipped under his chin from behind, the curved steel fitting easily against his throat, by his left ear. Slowly, he lowered his hands to his sides, scowling a little as he spoke, "So Cesare would think to use children against me then?"

"I am not a child,  _messere_. Though to be thought of as one has allowed me a lot of opportunities," the thief said with open amusement, eyes glinting from under the shade of the bandana wrapped about his forehead. "I'm underestimated, but that has let me stay out of notice this long. The old fox never even suspected me."

The overconfident thief seemed to like the sound of his own voice, thus the Assassin simply let him talk, discretely shifting his weight onto his good leg. If he could only distance himself, he would have a chance.

"We've met before, do you remember?" the other continued, idly tracing the older one's neck with his knife. "I helped you escape  _padron_  Cesare's Toscana fortress. I'd bet you didn't even think twice about why a simple thief was even there in the first place."

"What is the point of this?" Ezio finally asked icily, glancing past the crest of his hood at him. "If you plan to kill me, there's no need to talk me into a stupor before you do."

"No, no, you misunderstand," the footpad was quick to correct, his chuckle possessing a dark note behind it - a little uncanny for one of his age. "I'm not here to kill you. I am only stalling."

His response was slow, suspicious. "Why?"

"Because it's easier this way. For a supposed Brotherhood, you Assassins are so quick to turn on each other. It was almost funny how easy it was to stoke the old fox's paranoia."

Here, the realization bit into him like a razor. Wordlessly, he glanced back to see his own missing satchel bound to the young thief's side, the material still stretched from the orb of silver it contained. Of course, Machiavelli had never...

A lance of rage and panic sparked his eagle into flight, he realizing that la Volpe would take matters into his own hands if he did not stop him. However, he had barely begun to straighten, when the point of a second dagger pressed down between his shoulder blades, warning him to a crouch again.

"I'd rather not kill you,  _messere_ ," the boy said lightly, and despite his evident familiarity with the pair of knives, he did not seem to have the nonchalance of a murderer. He was only a footpad then, not a cutthroat.

"That's too bad," Ezio remarked tightly, a small snarl of impatience at his lip. "Perhaps if you did, you would have had a little more success."

Though he could not turn to look, the two blades pressing against him were enough for him to guess his enemy's stance, as well as the weakness in it. In order for the thief to pin him in this crouched position, he would need to be leaning forward, weight centered on one leg - likely the left, based on the knife being held to his throat.

It was easy to unbalance the boy, a sharp strike to the shin with his bracer enough for him to flinch, and for the knife being held to his neck to waver. He twisted away to the right, bracing himself on one hand and kicking out with his good leg to catch the other squarely in the chest.

The cry was clipped, cut short as he hit the stone roof on his back, the twin shivs tumbling away. The Assassin was on his feet in a blur of white, his hidden blade flicking smoothly from its cradle as he latched onto the thief's vest and held the point under his chin.

"Volpe's thieves guild. Where is it?" he asked flatly, the flash in his eyes threatening and stating clearly that he had little patience left.

"I…"

The younger one winced visibly as Ezio rather mercilessly cut a slash across his jawline, a small but jarring wound. It was not quite like him, he could admit, but he refused to forfeit Machiavelli's life out of concern for a potential informant.

"Speak, Templar. Unlike you, I have no qualms with spilling blood when it is necessary."

The thief balked, and it was evident that his fear of Cesare and his fear of the Assassin were contending within him. However, he wisely decided that the one whose blade was centimeters away from slitting his throat earned a little precedence.

"Southwest edge of the Antico district," the footpad finally breathed out, his voice shaking slightly. "A tower by the walls."

"Thank you," Ezio replied crisply, straightening easily with his reclaimed satchel in hand. He left the other where he lay as he returned the Apple to his belt, and moved briskly to the roof edge that overlooked the Tevere and the district that lay beyond it. For good measure, he caught up the two blades still abandoned on the stones, and took them with him as he leapt from the building onto the docks.

His landing was neither graceful nor easy, but he growled impatiently against the pain, staggering a step before pushing himself into a loping sprint. As he ran, he discarded one dagger into the river, but sheathed the other as his own.

He cleared the expanse of water without a second thought, skipping over the protruding mooring posts to the opposite bank, and fixing his attention upon a passing noble, who seemed quite serene on his morning ride through the rural district.

The eagle did not spare his breath for an apology as he latched onto the hem of the unfortunate man's doublet, unceremoniously tearing him from the saddle. The other had not even hit the ground before Ezio had hauled himself up in his place, jabbing the mare in the ribs to prompt it into a gallop.

The noble's shouts were quickly left behind as he rode hard down the path, scattering other townspeople going about their business in the countryside. The scenery streaked past him in a rather tremulous stream, and the Assassin steadied himself with difficulty, ducking his head and shutting his eyes briefly against the sickening waver in his vision. He had never gone so long without proper rest, and he could only will himself a last wind of strength, less for his own safety, but for his Brother's.


	15. Den of Knives

He had never been this deep into the Antico before, and Ezio could only press on and hope, could only listen to the crooning of his eagle spirit as instinct guided the way. Despite this, after several minutes of seeing nothing but arches of lonely aqueducts and worn dirt paths, he feared that he was lost, a misfortune that only bore heavy consequences.

However, a small cluster of buildings coming into view over the edge of the hill spurred him with a breath of relief and of fresh determination, the first indication that the Templar thief had not lied to him. He jabbed a heel into the fine jennet he had stolen, urging it into a gallop.

As the individual structures grew clearer, standing out from the flat gray backing of the Roman walls that curled about the small town, Ezio caught sight of a familiar pair of horses grazing side by side on the scrub of its outskirts. The two abandoned mounts had barely settled, their flanks yet flecked with foam and their reins still dangling; announcing that his Brothers could not have been here for more than a few minutes.

He could only hope that Volpe had not killed Machiavelli along the way.

His pale steed snorted as he leapt off a little jarringly against its saddle, not bothering to draw it to a halt as he approached the marks of civilization. He landed in a crouch, gasping a little as his body faltered, as he thought with some alarm that he was no longer able to stand.

Taking a moment to gather himself, he gave a quiet snarl of frustration and sprang to his feet, pressing a hand into the dust of the road to force himself upright.

The few inhabitants of the small village paid him no mind as he pushed past them, glancing around at the collection of buildings. The scattering of shops about him were clean and simple, though most were boarded up from lack of attention and income flow, their front shelves stacked instead with leaves and windswept strands of hay.

However, these he largely ignored, instead hurrying towards a tall, dilapidated structure that had likely once been a city guard tower, which seemed to have become a haven to carrier pigeons. Raised voices were just barely muffled by the hasty nailing of planks that made up the front door, and he smirked somewhat wryly - admittedly, with great relief - as he recognized Machiavelli evidently holding his own against the older Assassin, repelling him with words.

He ducked through the doorway without hesitating, taking in the scene inside the dimly lit room with a swept glance. The interior was taken up mostly by old crates, interspersed liberally with thieves; some crouching, some standing, all with eyes turned upon their leader, who was standing by the far wall of the room with a short blade drawn.

La Volpe's stance was visibly agitated, though the grip on his brandished dagger was stiff, as if he had been locked indecisively for quite some time. Machiavelli in turn was backed into the corner, but his face was set, his hands blatantly away from the sheathed scimitar at his side.

At the sudden intrusion, however, the fox lunged abruptly forward as if stung, much like a coiled predator fearing losing its prey to another. Dark eyes narrowed as Ezio saw the danger, and his hand leapt for the knife at his waist.

The stolen dagger was much heavier than what he was used to, but he nevertheless pulled back his arm to flick it out into the air, compensating carefully for the weighted haft. It spun once, the wrapped bindings about its handle furling out in spirals through the dim light, before the blade struck true, and pierced clear into wood.

Having drawn easily to a swift halt, Volpe eyed the shiv embedded in the wall inches in front of his face, his gaze rather placid as it shifted in Ezio's direction. "Is this payback for throwing you from your horse earlier?" he questioned calmly, his blade arm still tensed for a strike.

"No, this is to stop hasty judgment," he answered in a clipped tone, moving past the crowd of thieves to face his Brothers directly. "Look at that dagger, Volpe. Do you recognize it?"

The shiv was unmistakable, its rough wood handle supplemented by a metal knuckle guard, which was bound to it with strips of cloth. The older Assassin said nothing as he studied it, his silence noncommittal.

The nearby men, however, had begun muttering amongst themselves at the question. Ezio caught several mentioning the name "Lanz," their voices startled and confused. The eagle did not bother waiting for an answer from his fellow Assassin, and spoke, "I was just attacked by a thief who bore that knife. He has been bringing you evidence against Machiavelli, hasn't he?"

La Volpe had not moved, his expression unreadable and half-shaded by the peak of his brown hood. The younger one decisively moved between him and Machiavelli as he continued, his voice now flat and dangerous, "He was present in Monteriggioni as well, just before the siege, and just now, he spoke of Cesare as his master."

He was only answered with yet more silence, and a spark of sudden rage caused the eagle of him to flare, feathers on end. He snatched onto the wrist still clutching the butcher's knife and rather forcefully pushed it to one side, glaring directly into la Volpe's eyes as he snarled out, " _That_  is the kind of evidence that can condemn a man, not vague suspicions and personal vendettas."

A pause, and his tone gentled somewhat as he added, "We cannot allow the Borgia to break us from the inside, as well as out."

The fox only looked upon him with a clouded gaze before drawing away slowly, and lowering the blade to his side. Ezio flicked his attention to the others in the room, but continued to speak sharply to the older Assassin, "This Lanz is your problem, your loose end to tie up. I left him in the west Centro district, so I need your thieves to track him down, and follow him. I suspect he'll be reporting his failure to his overseer - I doubt he answers directly to Cesare himself - who can hopefully lead us to more agents in the city."

He did not hear a response, and thus glanced expectantly in the other's direction, eyes still a little narrowed. However, he was quite startled to see the violet eyes lit with open amusement, la Volpe speaking languidly, "As you wish,  _Maestro_."

The thief turned his back to pass several quick orders to his men, leaving Ezio to frown slightly and transfer his attention to Machiavelli instead, who had come to stand at his shoulder. "Thank you," the younger one said lightly.

"It was nothing. Just consider my debt paid, a life for a life."

The shadow of a smile. "Fair enough."

As the eagle watched la Volpe converse with his men, he hid a rather weary sigh and casually leaned against a nearby wooden pillar, quite habitually masking the exhaustion he felt. Though, as he eyed the exchange, a thought crossed his mind. Glancing at Niccolo, he commented, "It seems we cannot even begin to face Cesare and his armies alone. Are you in contact with our Brothers in other cities?"

The other seemed surprised at the question. "You wish to bring in other Assassins? I understand your intentions, but did you not notice the gates leading into Rome? They are heavily guarded, barely allowing any to come in, and even less to leave – and the patrols are only likely to double after you escaped the  _castello_."

He seemed to hesitate, clearly uncomfortable with the coming subject, before he plowed on, "Not to mention Monteriggioni was the common rendezvous for most of our messenger pigeons. Since it was lost, re-establishing contact may take a while."

"Unfortunate," Ezio remarked with a frown, folding his arms and carefully changing the topic. "Then what about here in the city itself? Do you know of any Assassins based in Roma?"

"Yes, but very few. I should be able to connect with them, but as I understand it, only one or two are open to helping us, and not all of them are fully trained."

The older one nodded, accepting the knowledge and deciding that there could only be one solution to their lack of allies. "Then I suppose we can only look for support elsewhere."

The two fell to silence as, rather abruptly, la Volpe's thieves set into swift motion about the room, a plethora of shadows taking off as one to attend to their appointed tasks. Ezio scowled minutely, dizzied by the tangled rush of movement, and he jumped slightly at the sudden support at his elbow, not having realized that he had almost lost his balance, his resolve slipping.

"You need rest." The statement was blunt, though not harsh, and the eagle found he could not respond, his brow furrowing as he irately fought to stay upright. Evidently hearing the exchange, la Volpe called to them as he too made to leave, "My offer to you still stands, Ezio. Stay as long as you wish."

A breathed word of thanks, and he yielded to the gentle push that led him into one of the guild's small rooms, an eagle dragging its wings and only warily accepting the heavy darkness of long neglected sleep.


	16. Fire Renewed

After a veritable age of battle and motion, Ezio found himself clinging to sleep as stubbornly as he once had to wakefulness. Vaguely, he could recall his Brothers rousing him long enough to force a meal into him, and to coax him into allowing a doctor to tend to his wounds. However, these spans of consciousness were mentally discarded as carelessly as dreams, the eagle of him only wanting to close its eyes, and fluff its feathers against the rain and wind of troubles.

However, he could only remain in this state of thoughtlessness for so long, and eventually, he felt someone unyieldingly dragging him to the waking world again. The hand shaking his shoulder did not abate even after a murmured growl of irritation, and at the second affront, he lashed out almost without thinking, snatching onto the arm and twisting it easily to immobilize the one who so insisted on disturbing his rest.

Though his eyes were likely still dulled from sleep, he nevertheless glowered up at Niccolo, not releasing his hold even if the other frowned at him with evident annoyance. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better," he commented, not quite sincerely. "But we need to leave, right now."

The nobleman only blinked at him, his other senses slower to rouse, and it took him a moment to notice the subdued tumult resounding through the dilapidated walls of the thieves guild, the sound of hoof falls and clattered weapons leaking in with the early morning air.

Understanding, he released the younger one and climbed swiftly to his feet, setting the pouch that still held the Apple – one thing he had refused to relinquish, even in sleep – onto the flat mattress as he dressed and armed himself again. "How many?" he asked shortly, only slightly hampered by the heavy bandages covering his injuries.

"About seven horsemen. They have not made any advances yet, but seem to be scouting the village," Niccolo replied, watching Ezio's somewhat stiff movements and subconsciously touching the bindings about his own wounds. The battle was only beginning, but it had already marked them both.

Ezio only nodded as he bound a rapier to his side, along with the shiv he had taken from the Templar agent, which he supposed la Volpe had permitted him to keep. "Then we are to defend the guild?"

"No," the other corrected. "Volpe said we must flee. Evidently, if the guards notice how closely the thieves protect this building, they may realize its importance. For now though, I have somewhere we can go."

The older Assassin tucked the Apple into his robes as he followed Niccolo to the main room, which was clustered with several groups of thieves, who seemed to be taking it in turns to slip out through various exits. La Volpe stood sentinel from the building's partially collapsed second floor, peering through the planks and coordinating his men.

"My thieves did not quite reach Lanz in time," the fox explained, his eyes still fixed upon the street, and his voice only just loud enough to carry to them. "But they were able to catch a name from him before he escaped into Borgia territory."

"Tell me of it later," Ezio responded, striding towards one of the side doors. "For now, allow me to cover the escape."

Though the statement was an offer, the hardness in his step and tone betrayed the fact that he could not be deterred from his decision. He did not speak it, but it was clear to his Brothers that the eagle was raring to repay the Borgia soldiers for the pains they had weighted him with. Niccolo raised a brow in his direction, but made no move to stop him.

The Assassin pulled the white cowl about his face as he slipped out from behind the precarious set of scaffolding that masked the entrance into the guild. He paused behind a wall dividing the alley from the main thoroughfare, shutting his eyes briefly and listening to the snorts of the horses, and the murmured exchanges of the men.

He heard one horseman mutter of wasted time, claiming that the word of a thief – even one that was supposedly on their side – could never be trusted. The reply was a chuckle, and a rather colorful insult towards those in the profession.

Ezio absently touched the release mechanism of his hidden blade as the pair of guards drew near, waiting for them to pass before he relaxed again. Though these soldiers had evidently been tipped off, their loose patrols of the small village were far from diligent, and they seemed to only be going through the motions of surveying the area.

Nevertheless, after such a span of vulnerability, the eagle of him was eager to bury its talons into blood.

The next mounted guard to pass him managed little more than a choked intake of breath as he lurched forward onto his steed's neck, unable to comprehend the sudden sharp pain in his side. The Assassin hastily gentled the man's shying horse before it could call any attention, dragging down on its bridle and quieting it with a soft word. The beast nickered, tossing its head slightly, but allowing itself to be pulled around to face into the street.

Ezio waited a moment before giving a sharp slap to its flank, sending the stallion plowing through the early riser crowd. Grumbles of annoyance quickly shifted to cries of alarm as the corpse eventually slipped from the saddle and scattered a crowd of porters. The remaining guards flocked to the death like vultures, and Ezio glanced back in time to see the remainder of la Volpe's thieves take the opportunity to scatter into the winds.

At this, he paused, flexing the fingers of his left hand a little restively. He was far from sated, but he knew that he would have to wait, would have to stop and think. Carelessness would only down him, and he wryly wondered if the sheer boredom would kill him if ever he were confined to bed again.

Restraining his beginnings of battle fever, he turned to retreat as well, and nearly collided with a man whose face was half-hidden by a black bandana. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments before the eagle reacted, lashing forward instinctively with his hidden blade.

The man slipped nimbly backwards, dodging into the alleyway Ezio had left moments before, and laughing quietly as he brandished the curved dagger that he had managed to stain with a sliver of the Assassin's blood.

His scarred lip lifted in irritation at the impudence, and he followed him without thinking, only barely noticing the two shapes suddenly advancing on either side of him as he entered the side street.

A cry from his eagle spirit, and he ducked the mace aimed towards his head rather unsteadily, staggering to the right and berating himself for not watching his flank. He retaliated with a whirling slash, quite violently spinning around and laying open the offender's throat, and much of his shoulder.

However, the blunt blow from the enemy on his other side connected and sent him reeling, and his second attempted counter missed its mark. He drew to a stumbled halt and spat out the beginnings of an angry curse, but was swiftly hushed by the first man who had baited him into the narrow space.

"Not a word,  _Assassino_ ," the enemy commanded softly, his amused tone barely audible past the cloth. "Neither of us wish to be found by the guards, yes?"

Ezio's eyes narrowed as he begrudgingly fell silent, hearing the sounds of the patrol in the street nearby, and knowing that they would flood the alley within seconds at any signs of a disturbance. If their battle did not end within the first few exchanges, the Borgia soldiers would finish it for them.

Thus instead, he merely glared around at the half dozen masked ones who circled him, jackal-like, their dress and lithe stances reminding him of Volpe's own. Unlike them, however, he guessed that this group made a habit of following in the wake of the Borgia guards, and falling upon any prey driven from hiding by their advance.

Outwardly, they seemed to be a band of scavengers, yet they seemed to know him, seemed to have sought him out purposefully. Why?

Almost in answer to his thought, one thief hissed, "Did you think you could send your men to kill one of ours without us noticing? We are not called the hundred eyes for nothing." At this rather imprecise accusation, Ezio realized that he recognized the color and markings of the bandanas the men bore - it seemed Lanz was affiliated with more than one guild in Roma.

In a silent drove, the men rushed towards him, but by now, the eagle had been loosed to the hunt, and dealt in a flurry of talons and wing beats. If the fight were to end quickly, he would need precision.

The Assassin fell to a slight crouch to evade the first stab, striking forward with slightly exaggerated motion to prompt the man before him into dodging backwards, right into one of his comrades. As the two scuffled briefly to untangle themselves, Ezio pivoted and swept instead towards the opposite edge of the circle, lashing out to the left and right in quick succession to clear a path out of the cage of enemies.

Again, he turned, and with the entire group in front of him now, he drew his rapier, and lashed out a series of tangled - and purposefully slowed - strikes. Though none connected, with the enemies weaving to dodge them like so many snakes, they failed to notice that the eagle was merely charming them, holding their attention with a mesmeric dance of metal as he herded them back towards the decrepit guard tower.

It was almost easy to dispatch them all after this, having lured them into a false rhythm of movement. He darted forward with sudden speed, and drove first blade then hilt then shoulder into the thief at the center of the group. Smirking ever slightly at him in the close proximity, the nobleman neatly snatched the bandana from the man's face, and kicked the body off his rapier, and against the wooden scaffolding behind him.

With the dark cloth in hand, Ezio retreated easily, turning his back upon the sudden cascade of stone and wood and dust as the supports gave way. Within a breath, much of the aged wall of the guild had tumbled down onto the group of thieves, adding the snap of breaking bones and the screams of the dying to the clamor.

The Borgia guards rushed in to investigate the noise, but the Assassin had already gone.


	17. Hidden in Sight

The fox met Ezio by the walls of the city, along the path that cut away from the thieves guild, and ran through the wilder areas of the Antico. There was little foot traffic on this road shadowed by overgrown trees and crumbling edifices of empires past, granting the Assassins a moment of privacy.

Evidently, la Volpe had found time to procure horses, and he held out the reins of Ezio's white stallion as he approached, which he guessed had been retrieved by the men sent after Lanz.

The eagle offered him a nod of thanks and took the proffered leads, hiding the minor cut he had received from the masked thief behind his cape. He climbed into the saddle, and the moon-haired stallion arched its neck around to peer at him, as if to exchange a greeting, and he smiled ever slightly. It always managed to find its way into his company, it seemed.

"Machiavelli said he would be waiting for us on Isola Tiberina," the elder Assassin told him as they set off towards the Centro district. "He mentioned that an ally of ours wished to meet with you." A pause, then he continued with somewhat dry amusement, "Now, care to explain why you found it necessary to destroy my guild?"

"I did not destroy it – at least not completely," the nobleman corrected with a small grin, his mood settled and the eagle of him satisfied from its feast. "And you should be thanking me. This can only give you the opportunity to rebuild it, perhaps into something that draws less attention. I can even compensate you for the renovations if you wish."

"A generous gift," la Volpe remarked, a brow raised. "And I suppose you plan to rob a Papal carriage to come up with the money?"

"My father was a banker, Volpe," he spoke lightly, the memory calling up a smoldering loss in him, which he was quick to tamp. "Much as I resisted back then, he still managed to teach me the importance of the trade. The Auditore yet have some florins to their name."

"But only if you are able to convince any of the banks to deal with you," the guild leader was quick to remind. "And don't expect that to be so easy here, where most shops are closed by will or force."

Ezio only shrugged in response. "With time."

At this point, they passed onto the muddy streets of the central district, and as citizens hemmed in around them, the two were careful to lower their voices.

"That aside, I would like to show you something," the younger Assassin said as they made their way over the Tevere. He reached into his satchel for the trophy of his last kill, and tossed the knotted bandana to la Volpe.

"Lanz wore markings similar to this," the elder one noted as he examined the dark cloth, his tone somewhat dead at mentioning the traitor thief. The nobleman did not comment, but knew that the betrayal must have stung the guild, regardless of how treacherous their profession could turn to be.

A moment passed in silence, until a fire of realization touched the violet eyes; and the eagle frowned at the other's abruptly darkened expression.

"Of course..." the thief murmured to himself, before speaking out with venom in his tone. "This is the mark of the Cento Occhi, a gang of upstart thieves who mostly prey on the caravans entering and leaving Roma." He paused, before meeting Ezio's gaze with some concern. "Were you attacked by these men?"

"Yes, they ambushed me out in the Antico. It seems they are quite upset over the assault on Lanz," the nobleman spoke with a nod. "You have crossed paths with them before, I take it?"

"On occasion." The answer was oddly clipped, thus Ezio did not push him, easily hearing the tension in his voice. A sensitive topic, he supposed.

Thus instead, the eagle continued, "Though the city guards apparently only see them as bandits, I suspect they are nevertheless allied to the Borgia, perhaps in secret. You said your men were able to get a name from the Templar footpad before he escaped?"

A nod. "They overheard him asking one of the  _castello_  guards for a woman – Fiora Cavazza. His overseer, no doubt, or at least his contact in the Borgia court."

"We've met," Ezio remarked with a slightly wry smile, almost involuntarily lifting a hand to brush the scabbed wounds upon his neck. "A fiery one that. As I saw it, Cesare seems to keep her in close company."

"She may the one managing his agents," la Volpe agreed. "Perhaps we can get to the Captain General through her."

"And to reach her, we must go through Lanz," he finished smoothly. He studied the black cloth in the other's hand, and spoke the idea that had been on his mind, "Will you be able to attain several bandanas like that one?"

The fox picked up quickly on his trail of thought, but frowned slightly at it. "If I understand what you are thinking, you cannot use my thieves. We have clashed with the Cento quite a few times, they would be recognized."

"Do not worry about that yet. Can you obtain them or not?"

"Leave it to me," the elder one agreed shortly, pulling upon the reins of his dark mare and turning it instead towards the north. "I will catch up with you afterwards."

Ezio watched him depart, before returning his attention to the river isle where he was to meet Niccolo. He had paid it little notice on his first visit to Roma, but upon closer inspection, he found that he rather liked its sense of self-contained dependence, a city-state quality that reminded him of Monteriggioni. The tower at its center stood a testament as well, seeming a remnant of a past age. He thought he could see the jagged figure of a brother eagle circling its peak, and he smiled.

As he guided his horse carefully through the slightly congested streets, sweeping the narrow landmass in search of his fellow Assassin, he heard a faint call of his name, the voice familiar. He flicked his gaze upon the half-opened doorway to the island tower, and could not keep back a genuine smile as he recognized the ally la Volpe had mentioned.

Casually, he slid from his steed's back, swiftly hitching it upon a nearby fence before leaving it on the edge of the street. He entered the doorway and took the downward staircase at a lope, coming to a halt before the two men who awaited him.

"It is not wise for the  _maestro_  to be here, but he insisted," Niccolo said a little shrewdly as Ezio clasped a hand upon Leonardo's shoulder, greeting him with a silent grin. The artist seemed a little worn, with shadows under the bright blue eyes, but the fond gesture was returned in kind nevertheless.

Welcomes exchanged, they transferred their conversation to the table in the corner of the storeroom, where Ezio told them of the Cento Occhi, and of his suspicions on their connections to the Templars.

"I  _have_  heard rumors of Cesare allying with several unsavory characters," Leonardo said thoughtfully, his chin propped upon one hand. "But I have yet to see them in the  _castello_  myself. It is apparently not proper for the Captain General of the Papal armies to be seen consorting with thieves and murderers."

"Regardless, it is possible," Niccolo remarked. "Perhaps the Cento are used to cause terror in the people, and keep them under control - though it really would not take much to do that. The citizens need only be shown a knife's edge to be brought into line."

"Do not speak ill of them, brother," the eagle chastised him, frowning. "They may be our key to reaching Cesare again."

Even Leonardo turned to look at him with a measure of surprise at this statement, though the younger Assassin was first to speak. "You cannot mean that we must recruit the help of the people," he said, almost incredulous. "Calling in Assassin Brothers I understand, but common citizens?"

Ezio smirked ever slightly. "And what if those two were one and the same?"

Niccolo blinked, though his dubious expression did not waver. He seemed to be thinking hard on some rebuttal, but fell silent long enough for the elder Assassin to continue.

"When I arrived in Roma, I saw many of the people being abused by the guards," he explained, setting a hand on the wood of the table, and standing to pace. "However, the city guards' arrogance, their need to flaunt their power, has doubtlessly stirred the drive to revolt, whether or not the citizens have yet acted upon it. It is the people who possess reason to protect the city, and we need only empower them."

"You are suggesting to raise an army, Ezio?" the artist questioned in turn, a frown creasing his brow. "Would that even be possible? The people of Rome are afraid as it is, without even being on the front lines."

"You would be surprised what fires tyranny lights in a man,  _amico_. I have no doubt that, already, a resistance is gathering."

Leonardo was nodding, thus the eagle turned his gaze instead to his fellow Assassin, who was leaning back upon his chair with his arms folded and his expression unreadable. Ezio moved to stand before him, leaning forward upon the table. "You cannot deny that we must rebuild the Brotherhood," he said quietly, awaiting the spoken confirmation that he - rather perplexedly - found he badly needed.

The silence stretched, broken only by the crooning of pigeons from the building's coop, before, "Go then," Niccolo finally sighed, not meeting his eyes, but waving a hand as if to release a falcon to the hunt. "Seek out these insurgents you are so convinced exist, and recruit them to our cause."


	18. Found Abandoned

Ezio replied with a small smile and an obedient bow half-meant, before moving to leave the storeroom. He called back for Niccolo to ask la Volpe to wait for him when he arrived, then turned towards a flight of stairs that he assumed led up to the peak of the tower.

As he mounted the stone steps, he passed several branching corridors, which trailed off into a maze of further rooms. Abruptly, he drily wondered if Niccolo had been expecting him to propose such a course of action all along. This building, after all, suited a Brotherhood's needs perfectly.

"Ezio, wait a moment."

The nobleman was halfway up the third flight when Leonardo caught the edge of his slightly torn cape, and he turned to look at him, blinking. "What is it,  _amico_?"

"Back at the  _castello_ , I saw that you were able to retrieve the Apple," the artist said somewhat breathlessly, his smile hesitant and apologetic. "I was wondering… if you wouldn't mind…"

A pause, then Ezio allowed a light bark of a laugh, grinning tolerantly. "You need not explain yourself, Leonardo." He withdrew the artifact carefully from the folds of his robes, and pressed it into the other's hands. "I trust you with this. Just promise you won't delve too deeply into studying it, I have read how its elusive secrets can enslave a man."

As Leonardo nodded and clutched at the orb of silver quite protectively, the Assassin thought he caught a flicker of a frown passing through the blue eyes, and wondered if he too was remembering the words of the Codex.

Raising a hand in farewell, Ezio continued to make his way up the tower steps, emerging finally into the dusking afternoon. The wind here, with its many tendrils swirling about the tower, felt rejuvenating, a lifter of spirits. The eagle stilled briefly to lift his face to it, then, as if to match its movements, or perhaps to chase it through the darkening skies, he ran forward in a flash of white, and leapt.

For the briefest of moments, he was in memory, in Venice again, following those he had just come to recognize as the allies of his Order, and feeling the burn upon his ring finger from the mark he had finally been permitted to bear. He had flown then, just as he had done alone so many times before, yet it had meant something else entirely.

But that had been years past, had been a life too, past. His role to come, he knew, would be different.

The cold waters of the Tiber all but startled him from his thoughts, and as he lingered a moment to compose himself beneath its waves, he shook the webs of reminisce a little impatiently from his mind.

He emerged from the river onto a nearby dock, shivering slightly in the air as he absently gave a short whistle, habitually calling his horse to him. Just as Ezio paused briefly in afterthought, wondering if it would be able to hear him from here, the white stallion came obediently into view, weaving nonchalantly through the crowd.

Glad that it had remembered its training, Ezio pulled himself onto its back and set off towards the center of the city. He knew not where these insurgents could possibly be based, thus he rode towards the most likely place they would act out – admittedly, quite foolishly – against Rome's ill-begot authorities.

His steed's hooves clattered quite noisily up the mountainous stairs leading up to the Campidoglio, and though the Assassin kept his head bowed, his ears were pricked, listening in upon the groups of people travelling through its courtyard in flocks.

Around him were murmurs of mundane conversation, as well as the expected annoyed complaints of ignored requests or of unfortunate summons, but all these mattered little. Instead, he waited for pockets of silence, for groups moving wordlessly – completely suspiciously – with the very air of troublemakers. He did not expect the resistance to know what they were doing.

Sure enough, a small group of people lingering by the edge of the courtyard soon caught his attention, their barely masked intentions lighting clearly to his eagle's eyes. The Assassin drew his steed to a halt by the opposite side of the hill, dismounting without comment and settling himself upon a half-full bench to watch them through the press of the late afternoon crowd.

The handful of men and women were clustered close to each other in apparently forced silence, their words exchanged in glances and motions, and their aggression writ clearly in their small but sharp gesticulations towards the nearby Borgia guards. They shuffled like beasts encaged, restless and glaring.

These vigilantes were spoiling for a fight, Ezio knew, but he could only wonder why they held back, why there had not yet been any open confrontations or insults. Given they would not live a day longer if they faced the soldiers directly, he expected that such was only the natural reaction, the first impulse of those so long driven into the dust.

A shift elsewhere in the throng, and he focused instead upon the figure of a young man, who was moving swiftly towards the ones who were all but calling down the wrath of the arrogant city guard.

The newcomer faced the other four, and though the Assassin could not hear the exchange over the distance and drone of other conversations, he could easily see that he was attempting to reign in the others' tempers. One lady in particular, though, was speaking out to him heatedly, defensively, perhaps justifying the reason why they were there.

The nobleman frowned slightly as he observed them, folding his arms. The resistance was farther along than he had thought, and at least showed some measure of camaraderie, if no true organization. However, despite its potential, they could be just as easily jeopardized by such loose cannons as these, who thought it wise to face the threat at the Capitoline hill head-on. They may as well have attempted to run across the Ponte Sant'Angelo with little more than fist and boot.

The newcomer continued to insist reason to his allies, and though his back was to Ezio, something of his movements struck the Assassin as familiar; in the way he periodically scanned the crowd for danger, the way he ducked his head as if to hide behind a cowl he did not possess. Curious, he allowed his eagle's gaze to shroud his own, and he found the small group lit in an uncertain grey, save the young man at their head, who was marked clearly in blue – quite odd for one he had not yet met.

Abruptly, almost as if feeling his scrutiny, the newcomer tensed, pausing before speaking something to his comrades. The words must have been some form of warning that they were being watched, as the vigilantes began looking wildly about, searching quite indiscreetly for the enemy.

The young man, however, turned slowly, and met the Assassin's eyes almost immediately, his own wide. Ezio only lifted his head and offered him a small smile, before standing smoothly and slipping into the crowd. The other evidently lost sight of him at this point, and he could see him glancing around, attempting to locate him again. Finally though, he returned his focus on sternly warning his allies away, and instructing them to scatter.

It took a moment, but all finally moved on a little begrudgingly, save the lady who had been protesting most vehemently. She only frowned at the young man, matching his glare for several seconds, until the other grew impatient and simply turned his back upon her. After some hesitation though, she hurried to catch up with her friend, and fell into step beside him.

Ezio followed them closely now, seeing the young man shift uneasily as he walked, perhaps sensing his presence, but unable to locate him. They neared the Campidoglio staircase and the relative safety of the Centro, however, as the pair passed a contingent of four guards lingering upon its peak, the lady stopped. A sigh as the other drew to a halt as well.

"Tessa, I  _told_  you-"

A lifted hand, and a swift, nonchalant reply halted the exasperated hiss. "Relax, they're not going to see me."

The lady vigilante brushed off the disapproving frown as she wove carefully closer to the group of soldiers, who were half sheltered by an alleyway between the senate buildings. She had some skill, the Assassin observed, only just able to follow her movements as the slight hand darted to each of the guards' belts as she passed them, the coin pouches upon them almost seeming to vanish into the air.

She was skillful, perhaps, but arrogant, with a tendency to overreach herself. The lady – Tessa, if he had heard correctly – neatly transferred the wallets into the folds of her clothes, but by the time she had relieved the fourth man of his money, the first had noticed her presence.

" _Ehi_ , what do you think you're doing,  _bambina_?" The guard's hand snatched out and caught the lady vigilante by the forearm, halting her. She immediately lapsed into a demure façade, looking away and murmuring out meek, apologetic words for bumping into them. This defensive reaction, however, only seemed to backfire, and a twisted grin spread across the guard's features as he looked upon her pretty face.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot seem to hear your apology here in the crowd," the soldier spoke to the approving chuckles of his men. "Perhaps we can speak somewhere more private."

The young man began to panic outwardly as he saw his friend being pulled unyieldingly deeper into the alleyway, and his gaze flicked imploringly upwards, towards the rooftops. Ezio followed his eyes instinctively, and caught sight of a sniper crouching upon the tiles of a nearby building, an elegant longbow in hand. Another ally, he guessed.

However, as he watched, the ebony skinned man frowned and shook his head, perhaps indicating that he could no longer see Tessa from his vantage point. At this, the young man breathed a curse and broke into a sprint, swiftly unsheathing a dagger at his side.

The eagle frowned as he watched the vigilante draw near the soldiers. In the way he held his weapon, he evidently had some training, but he was blinded by emotion, careless. The guards would cut him down merely for flashing a blade at them.

Ezio swept forward easily, catching the running one by the shoulder just before he emerged from the safety of the crowd. The other turned to look at him, surprise again evident, before the elder man spoke quietly, "Stay here. I will help her."

The young man froze as his eyes flicked from the Assassin's heavily shadowed face, to the bracer upon his left arm, but Ezio did not pause to take in his startled reaction. He strode towards the three remaining soldiers, a finger running over his hidden blade's release mechanism.

The first guard who turned to watch his approach had barely opened his mouth in a disdainful taunt, before his lung was punctured neatly through the ribs, and he found he was unable to speak. He coughed weakly in surprise, and the eagle discarded him to one side.

The second one's reflexes were enough for him to reach for his weapon's hilt, but Ezio had already moved into a counter, whirling to the right to drive his wrist blade through the side of his throat, before twisting around to smash in his nose with the opposite bracer. He slowed smoothly mid-turn and faced the third enemy, who had managed to draw his long sword, his face pale.

Before he could even begin to rally a defense, the Assassin sprang off against his forward leg, and drove his blade forcefully into the other's forehead, cracking clear through helm and bone with the gathered momentum.

Ezio withdrew and flashed into the alleyway as the corpses clattered to the ground all about him, the people of the crowd only just beginning to recognize what had happened, veiled as the attack had been by the coming night.

As he passed deeper into the near-black enclosure of the side street, he caught sight of the lady vigilante and her assaulter almost immediately. The man was struggling to keep a hold on his prize as it bit back violently, she thrashing to free herself, and choking out angry expletives past the hand over her mouth.

Ezio briefly wondered if this spirited one truly needed rescuing, before catching onto one of the slivers of throwing knives pressed to his flank, and flicking it into the air. The blade rang and bit deeply into the guard's spine, dropping him like a discarded rag.

As the final body grew still upon the stones, and only the distant sounds of the agitated crowd filtered through the dusk air, the Assassin was suddenly quite aware of the two young ones standing motionless, both before and behind him.

The lady was glaring at him quite indignantly, though unable to speak as she only clutched the money pouches still hidden at her chest, not leaving her place from against the back wall. Ezio glanced from her to the man behind him, before obligingly moving aside to allow them to rejoin each other.

Slowly, the vigilante who had followed him slipped past to stand quite protectively between him and Tessa, caution written upon his very features. The eagle bore both of the narrowed stares patiently, leisurely straightening into a relaxed stance as he awaited their judgment.

The next action was expected by now, but Ezio was still mildly surprised that his suspicions had been correct.

"... _Maestro_ ," the young man finally greeted him as he bowed, his hand pressed to his chest in the Assassin's salute.


	19. Under Torn Banners

"I don't believe we've met, Brother," Ezio said with a measure of amusement, graciously returning the bow as he studied the pair of vigilantes.

"No, we have not," the novice remarked carefully as he offered a hand down to his friend to help her up, though she only answered with a defensive scowl and a swat, before straightening on her own. He shrugged, a tolerant smile at his lips.

"Perhaps we can continue our conversation after joining your archer friend," the elder Assassin suggested smoothly, glancing up at the one standing on the rooftop above them. The foreigner, who had been eying him warily with an arrow nocked to his bow, seemed startled that he had noticed him, and only blinked as Ezio nodded a greeting.

"Of course," the young man replied, and began to move to obey, but Tessa had evidently recovered her voice by this point, and interrupted quite suspiciously, "What do you want from us?"

"A pleasure to meet you as well,  _madonna_ ," Ezio replied with a small smirk. "Though it really is best if we got out of sight. Can you climb?"

The younger Assassin took a moment to silence the beginnings of Tessa's cross answer, before responding solemnly, "We will follow you."

Fleeing the telltale sounds of approaching enemies, they swiftly made their way up the wall towards where the archer crouched waiting. The eagle climbed ahead of the other two thoughtlessly, flitting from window ledge to rocky crevice and back, with his eyes fixed only upon the sky edge of the building.

When he cleared the low battlements of the building's roof, significantly ahead of the younger pair, he found the foreigner's eyes to contend with this time. He gave a slight smile in response to the wary stare, leaning against the building's tower and outwardly dropping his guard in an act of good faith. The other only regarded him mutely, but eased the tension in his bowstring.

The other two caught up to them shortly, and the archer offered each of them an arm up in turn as they reached the ramparts. Ezio could not help but notice the bond between them, spoken in glances and gestures, and remarking of time spent and battles fought in company. As thick as thieves, one could say.

"My name is Ezio Auditore," he spoke swiftly when they had settled, knowing that they would not have long to converse in enemy territory, particularly with death just below them. However, he dared not strain their trust of him any further by leading them deeper into the district. "I require your help. The liberation of Roma has begun, and the Brotherhood could use your assistance."

"You require us?" the other Assassin was first to speak, and the eagle caught a flicker of darkness in his eyes, though he knew not why. "By us, you mean the entire resistance?"

"Yes," Ezio said with a short nod, glancing in turn to the other two as well. "As many as are willing to come."

"We cannot trust you, ' _maestro_ '," Tessa remarked flatly, the term of respect dropped with great sarcasm. "How can we know you are not a Borgia spy, sent to herd all of us into a trap?"

"He is not a spy." The statement was spoken with such confidence that even the eagle was slightly taken aback by it. However, when the young Assassin turned to address him directly, he only offered a small, apologetic smile. "I have no doubt of your skill or good intentions, but still, we cannot help you."

Ezio frowned, but returned gently, "I am not surprised, but might I at least know why?"

"With all due respect, _signore_ Auditore, the liberation of Roma began long before you arrived here," the vigilante answered firmly, speaking to the nods of his two companions. "We do not need to be in the Brotherhood to rid our city of the Borgia."

"I see. Though should you ever change your minds, come find me at isola Tiberina," the nobleman said lightly, a touch resignedly, as the three moved to return to street level.

Just after Tessa and the archer had dropped out of sight however, the young Assassin paused and glanced over his shoulder at him. "I hope you understand,  _maestro_. I appreciate any help you can give us, but I would not allow my friends to join the Order unless they had no choice."

"You would speak for them, Brother, without giving them a chance to decide on their own?" Ezio's tone was not accusing, though puzzled.

The vigilante paused to ponder the question, before seeming to evade it and remarking, " _Signore_ Auditore, you were born into the Brotherhood as I was, were you not? We had no choice to take up such a dangerous profession; I see no reason why we must risk others as well. Being a rebel is treacherous enough as it is."

Ezio tilted his head slightly at him. "You look upon the Creed as an obligation you cannot avoid."

"…I do. Though I have not always seen it this way." Bitterness now, and an echo of grief. The vigilante was quick to shake it off however, forcing a smile as he turned back to offer a last bow. "I am Francesco Vecellio. Perhaps we will see each other again."

Ezio nodded in return, and kept watch over him as he slid down the building wall to join his allies, the three carefully evading the soldiers who had come to investigate the deaths of their comrades. The boy intrigued him, if anything.

Francesco had doubtlessly been trained in the ways of the Brotherhood, but the nobleman could only wonder why he had lost faith in its teachings - enough, even, for him to have halted his training, as his only partially fledged skills gave testament to. He could ask Niccolo, perhaps.

As he straightened to depart as well, a flash of movement on the roof of a building adjacent to him caught his attention, and he tensed, dark eyes narrowed. On the lofty height of these Senate buildings, perched and towering as they were on the Capitoline hill, the black shapes of familiar thieves could be picked out even against the quickly darkening sky.

The eagle of him hackled at the danger, at the realization that the Cento were also watching the three vigilantes from above.

He leapt into motion without another thought, his Vision painting the positions of his targets upon his memory in flames of red. The thieves seemed to have once again flocked towards death in the city guards' wake, and had evidently noticed the three making to leave the area behind the backs of the gathered soldiers. The Assassin knew not what ill will they bore for the members of the resistance, but he was determined to intercept them all the same.

The bruise at his temple from the Cento's previous attack throbbed somewhat distractingly as he ran, speaking caution of another potential trap. He was careful to count his enemies this time, but he soon found that there was almost a score of them – more than twice as many as he had faced in the Antico, and a number that he was only warily sure he would be able to handle. For once, he missed the comfort of his dual blades.

Nonetheless, the threat on his potential allies was clear, and that was enough to dispel any hesitation.

He threw himself into the winds as he reached the end of the building, his robes furling behind him in a stream until he caught the lip of the opposite roof. He heaved himself up without missing a breath, his rapier in hand before he had even straightened. He sprinted towards his targets that were clustered on the far right edge of the building, their attention and crossbow stocks fixed unwaveringly upon the three moving below.

The thieves had little time to gather to meet the eagle that had dived upon them from behind, with at least two falling before they could turn. Ezio twisted past frantically loosed bolts as he forced his way through the group of enemies, staying his talons until he had reached the opposite side, and had bodily blocked the vigilantes from their sight.

From here, he spun around to meet the enemy head-on, sliding into a crouch to keep his momentum from carrying him off the edge of the roof. Boots finding purchase on the slick stone, he regained his stance and lashed out in a wide sweep to take the head of the nearest thief. Sword held behind him now, he surged forward and took two more down with a crossed strike, slowing to a standstill as the others finally thought to retreat.

The Cento Occhi thieves backed away as one to create some distance between them and the abruptly motionless Assassin, who only watched them and read their fear. Warningly, he held his blood-slicked rapier out to them, willing to avert the fight if he was able, now that the vigilantes were safely away.

"Get out. All of you, now." His tone was flat and dangerous, carrying clear as a blade.

The jackals wavered, clearly unprepared for a close-ranged fight, and he lashed out suddenly into the air, startling them back a further step. The white of his uniform stood out almost too blatantly in the night, but it at least caused the enemies to look upon him as if he were a phantom. "Go. I will not say it again."

"How is that working for you,  _messere_?"

Ezio paused and turned with a frown, glancing towards the young man who stood some distance from both him and the group of thieves, the lightly taunting voice unmistakable. Lanz advanced upon him boldly, though he was outwardly unarmed.

"You cannot order them around, old man," the Templar thief commented with a grin that did not reach his eyes, his swaggering calm seeming to bolster his fellow Cento into a renewed confidence. "No more than you can manipulate those rebels. Do you really think you can tempt in followers with dusty Creeds and age-old traditions?"

"I was not trying to," the Assassin answered in a growl, straightening to his full height as he regarded him somewhat disdainfully. This footpad seemed determined to grind at his nerves.

"Oh? That's too bad, I was going to propose a contest."

Lanz circled slowly to Ezio's left, and the nobleman was suddenly quite aware that the thieves were hemming him in, with only empty air and a steep drop into the Antico behind him; a height even he would not be able to jump without injury. Thus, he held his ground, darting a warning glance towards the Cento to keep them from attacking or backing him off the edge of the roof.

The Templar thief continued to speak nevertheless, evidently serious with his previous remark. "What do you think,  _messere_? A contest on which of us can first recruit this supposed resistance to our own  _noble_  cause? If you cannot have them,  _padron_  Cesare will."

Lanz waited before shrugging in response to the Assassin's stony silence, glancing towards where the three vigilantes had retreated. "Or if he cannot have their loyalty, he can at least take their heads."

"You speak so easily of bloodshed, when you were too much of a coward to kill me yesterday," Ezio remarked dully, his gaze passing carefully between each of his many enemies.

"I did not do so because that is not my style," Lanz only answered, his eyes alight with expectation. "I prefer to let others do the work for me."

" _Assassino_!"

The voice was distant, and the eagle only just managed to transfer his attention to the horseman in the courtyard below them, his crossbow sight trained upon the figure in white on the Senate building roof. Ezio reacted on flared instinct, but it was not enough, scattered as his focus had already been. The next moment, a flash of pain seared into his sword arm as the quarrel grazed him, and tore through edges of cloth and flesh.

He staggered back a step with a bit out curse, and suddenly there were enemies pressing in all around him, hands seizing his arm, his shoulder, the cloth at the back of his hood. "I believe this is mine," Lanz laughed quietly as he easily slid the shiv from Ezio's belt.

Then a great force, and the Assassin was in the air.


	20. Without Words

His mind was blank as flashes of stone and earth and darkened sky tumbled past his vision, but the eagle of him reacted, and flared its wings. As Ezio slammed shoulder first against a wooden trellis jutting out from the building, he snatched out at it to slow his fall, ignoring the gashes the splintering ribs left on his hands. His left found a momentary hold, before the rest of the frame shattered, dropping him again, though allowing him to swing within reach of the wall.

He scrabbled for purchase against passing window sills and uneven stones, practically feeling the threat of the path rushing up to break him, until finally, his grip caught. He jerked to a halt at the seam where the building met the sheer stone of the cliff, gasping a curse as his wounded arm burned, and digging boots and crimson-stained fingers into the minute cracks of the wall. The broken rail of a low window had saved him, and he clung to it as a raptor to its prey.

Even after he had steadied his hold, he refused to move for a span, shuddering minutely, and trying to ease his breath and the deluge of adrenaline in his blood. At a ringing chuckle from above, however, Ezio flicked a burning glare up towards the roof edge he had been thrown from. The thieves were in satisfied retreat, but Lanz took a moment to salute him mockingly, before disappearing from sight.

The Assassin prepared to follow, his eagle spirit livid, but as cries of shock drifted up from far below him, he quickly turned his attention down to the path, discounting the yet sickening distance he was from it.

Even from this height, he could see that the pieces of the trellis he had broken had smashed against the ground, startling the crowd and drawing their attention to him. Feeling their eyes and knowing that he was too tempting a target for any coming guards, a white shape painted against dark stone, Ezio pulled in a slow, steadying breath, then released his hold on the wall.

The slight incline of the cliff face slowed his fall as he slid against it, but the force still felt shattering as he reached its end and was thrown to the ground in a tangle of robes. Stifling any sounds of pain as he landed hard on his side, he rolled unsteadily to his feet and staggered a few steps before forcing himself to a run. The civilians parted for him, completely bewildered at the eagle that had seemingly fallen from the sky.

As he sprinted for cover in the nearby ruins, ignoring the ache in his entire body, Ezio realized that the horseman who had shot him had evidently managed to rally his allies, who were now thundering down the Campidoglio steps in pursuit.

Irately, he thought on the fact that the jackals had successfully disarmed him of rapier and short blade. Admittedly though, that mattered little at the moment – despite the crossbow bolt having only glanced off his right arm, the limb was not responding well after needing to support his weight so soon after being injured. The impact from the fall had done nothing to help either.

The Assassin rubbed at the numbness in his arm as he whistled sharply, throwing the summons for his horse into the air before flicking behind the pillars of the ancient forum. Masked by the thickly woven shadows, he stilled briefly, knowing that his mount would reach him within a few seconds, but that the guards would as well. He needed a distraction.

Shutting his eyes as the clatter of hoof and boot drew steadily nearer, he took a throwing knife from his belt and waited, coiled right until the lead horseman cleared the corner. He shot rather brazenly into the stallion's path, the sudden flare of white startling it into a rear. Ezio fell to one knee to dodge the lashing hooves, and threw his knife up under the crook of the horse's foreleg.

The beast's piercing whinny of pain was not enough to warn the charging soldiers following just behind it, and several of them stumbled directly into the indignant animal, and suffered powerful blows as it thrashed. The nobleman swiftly skirted the crowd of soldiers, fitting several throwing knives between his fingers and flinging them into the confused throng.

He had not had time to aim, but the slivers of metal found their marks all the same, burrowing into shoulder and back and leg. The further cries of the guards only added to the chaos, and through it, Ezio caught sight of his white steed approaching, just another phantom in the clouded night.

The Assassin turned and ran from it a moment, matching its pace before catching hold of the saddle as it passed him without breaking a step. He swung onto its back and urged it deeper into the Antico, seeking to place the imposing arches of the Colosseo between himself and his pursuers.

He kept to the path that hugged the curved wall of the structure, but flicked into its recesses as soon as he was out of sight. The overgrown arena was shrouded and silent as he rode through it, the actors who often inhabited it having gone home for the night. His steed snorted overly loud in the dark, and he hushed it gently, leading it to the rear of the stage.

The old props of crossed wood and draped canvas hid him well enough, the backdrop having been constructed for such a purpose. Finally chancing a sigh and drawing his stallion to a careful halt, Ezio slid to the ground and leaned on a nearby bench to tend to his fresh injury, rather impatiently stopping the blood flow with a knotted band of cloth.

As he finished and flexed his limbs to check for any further injuries, a hushed whisper of a voice floated to him on the dead air, tensing him and hackling his eagle. He cocked his head to listen, identifying the tone as female and oddly ringing, as if reverberating over marbled stone. The words were unintelligible though, lost over the distance.

Slowly regaining his feet, he followed the quiet voice that seemed to come from along the Colosseo's edge, his eyes flashing with his Vision in an attempt to reach out for the source. However, as he searched, he all but tripped over a low grate built into one of the many dilapidated walls encircling the arena.

Curious, he crouched before it, running a light hand over the arched metal that enclosed its opening. A small lock glinted in the swinging grate, and he released his hidden blade without a second thought, swiftly picking at the pins of the old lock.

A dry clack and he was through, the fading echo of iron giving testament to the significant length of the passage. Slowly, he pushed back the grate, staring a little indecisively at the blackness within it and hearing the voice - a shade clearer now - continuing on in that lilting drone. It was odd, but somehow, it felt familiar.

The eagle of him edged him on, drawn as if to an ocean siren, and the Assassin finally gave in, and plunged into the dark. He slid again for the second time that night, and was soon loosed onto the floor of a wide corridor lit with distant torches.

He stood carefully, brushing the dust of ages from his robes, and peered around the surprisingly bright passage. The rusty cells lining the walls stirred the whispers of capture in him, and he shifted the fingers of his left hand a little restlessly, disliking the memory.

It did not take him long to be distracted from it however, as he realized that the voice had stopped. Even his breathing seemed to echo in this narrow space, and he could not comprehend how the sound could have vanished so quickly.

Persistently, he wove deeper into the passageway, straining for any signs of movement or life. Eventually, he did hear snatches of voices and conversation again, but they were drastically unlike the haunting murmurs that had drawn him in. Instead, these seemed the exchanges of commoners, tones familiar to his memory, rather than to his spirit.

At this realization, Ezio crouched swiftly and ran up the nearest wall, flitting easily from the peak of a broken pillar to a raised archway, and settling in the lofty shadows overlooking a circular room. The fire-lit chamber was pierced through by a wide pillar at its center, and reverberated with the voices of a small crowd of civilians who had gathered within it.

He glanced around them from above, recognizing at least a couple of the vigilantes that Francesco had reprimanded at the Campidoglio, though not the Assassin apprentice himself. All spoke openly here, their emotions rearing wild and unchecked, as if they so passionately plotted the assassination of Julius Caesar himself.

This was the base of the resistance, he was sure, and after his rather disappointing attempt with the three at the Capitoline hill, Ezio had at least learned to change his approach. Simply asking would not work for these who had felt the tyranny of the Borgia first-hand, who had witnessed body and brother fall to the sword and the lash and the noose.

These rebels were not like himself, who saw the Order as his family, who felt that joining their ranks was like coming home. No, they only answered to action, only rose and rallied to deeds and accomplishments, not ideals. Though he loathed admitting it, Lanz had been correct that it would not be the promise of creeds and traditions that would unite these men.

Their decision to bind themselves to the Brotherhood could not come before the liberation of Rome, but after.

Taking a breath, he leapt into the room and landed lightly on his feet, pausing a moment until the vigilantes noticed him. There was a loud rustle of movement as alarmed faces turned to him, as weapons scraped from scabbards, but the conversation died like a candle flame in the wind.

There was silence, and in it, Ezio spoke.


	21. Forget

"I know I am an outsider to you," the Assassin said carefully, his tone even but ringing, stilling those who had drawn their weapons, though they continued to watch him with winding caution. He had seconds to convince them at best. "Nonetheless, I bring to you a proposal. If you truly wish to slip from the chains of the Borgia, you cannot simply stand here and discuss it. I urge you to act."

"…I know you,  _Assassino_ ," one voice sounded from the throng, its speaker's face unintelligible from the mass gathered in the small chamber. "You are the one who escaped the Castel Sant'Angelo."

A light nod. "Then you must know that I am familiar with the enemy's base. If you would help me, we can break the Borgia's hold from the inside."

Here, murmurs started, hesitantly at first, and he waited patiently for them to settle their own discussions. He continued only when the faces had turned to him again, playing his words as carefully as strikes in a duel. "I know you do not trust me, but you at least realize that the Borgia desire to capture me again, correct? Then I offer you this: all you must do is hand me over to them."

An amount of surprise was audible in the crowd's whispers after this, and Ezio surveyed them, the eagle of him picking up mixtures of disbelief and scoffs at bravado, though there too was some genuine curiosity. He may have a chance at this yet.

"If you present me to them and leave, you will be rewarded for your efforts, and no danger will come to you," he spoke easily, sensing that he held a measure of their respect, if not trust. "But if you truly desire to free your city of them, you will come to aid me after I break open the  _castello_ 's gates from within."

"How do we know you will keep your word?"

A familiar voice spoke this time, female. The nobleman met Tessa's eyes, saw the faintest flickers of faith. "You cannot, and neither can I know that you will keep yours. But I ask it from you all the same."

Only silence met him here, silence and dubious eyes. But he knew the flow of a crowd, knew that even the slightest ebb could shift their decision. He addressed his last words to those who looked to him steadily, those who did not shy or glance at their fellows for support. They were already set in mind, though they did not voice it. "Seek us out on Tiber Island by daybreak, should you decide to stand against the Borgia."

He had left them then, but a glance with his eagle's eyes was enough to assure him that most of them would follow. He thought on this quite wryly as he searched for the exit - he did not really wish to make a habit of it, but it seemed that most of his allies were those beyond the Brotherhood.

The haunting voice found him again as he passed through a dark, high-ceilinged chamber, but he did his best to ignore it this time, slightly concerned about the stability of his sanity. The twin statues flanking the room peered down at him through stone eyes, but he kept his own fixed upon the staircase that led out of the bowels of the Colosseo. A sealed door marked with conjoined triangles caught his eye, but he swept past it pointedly. There would be another time for exploration.

His stallion - and luckily, none else - awaited him as he emerged into the cool wind of the early morn. The arena held only whispers and shadows for him, and he left them easily, returning to the populace of the Centro district, then finally, the comforting enclosure of the Tiber Island tower. Already, it felt a home to him.

"How was your chase after phantoms?" Niccolo asked him a little flatly as Ezio entered and shrugged his hood back. La Volpe was there as well, perched upon the bench across from the youngest Assassin.

"They will come. I believe they will be enough of a force to storm the  _castello_  whenever we choose," he answered lightly, realizing that he was finally starting to grow comfortable with the other's cynicism.

"Ah yes. Volpe has been telling me of your 'plan,' but do you really think some disguises will be enough to fool the guards into thinking that the members of the resistance are Cento Occhi?" Niccolo waved off his rather sarcastic answer and continued, "If you had asked me first, I would have been able to offer a more elegant solution."

"Fine. Enlighten me then." There was slight irritation here, but a willingness to listen nevertheless.

The nobleman settled next to la Volpe as the other nodded once and went on, "Your ruse of disguising your recruits as Cento Occhi to slip into the  _castello_  will be much more believable if we can get their leader to come along; as well as to witness - perhaps even direct - your capture."

Ezio waited for Niccolo to continue as the younger one stood to pace, his arms folded behind his back.

"After Volpe informed me of your idea, I went to meet with Francesco Vecellio. He mentioned that he spoke with you, but it seems that not even you were able to coax him back to the Brotherhood."

"I have heard of him as well," the fox offered, violet eyes glancing to the question upon Ezio's face. "A young one born into the Order, but who all but deserted it after his master was executed - Perotto, I think his name was. A skilled Assassin, but our brothers were forced to kill him after he turned on us and broke the Creed."

The nobleman nodded slowly, finally understanding. "I see. But if he does not wish to work with us, I do not see how he can help in this supposedly better plan of yours, Niccolo," he said with a raised brow, returning his attention to him.

"He can help us, though perhaps not knowingly," the youngest said with a somewhat grim smile. "Whenever we are ready to mobilize, I can instruct him to wait for me by the western Centro district, near where the Templar thief attacked you yesterday. I understand that this Lanz is seeking to recruit the resistance as well, and that district is evidently his territory."

A frown. "You would use Francesco as bait then? Endanger him? He is just a boy, a Brother."

"It is his own fault for distancing himself from the Order."

Niccolo sighed as he looked to Ezio and caught his scowl, the beginnings of a rather vehement reprimand. "Do not worry, he will not be in any actual danger. You need only play your own part, and hope that the other recruits who are coming will be a little more cooperative than Francesco. Can you trust them?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not, but I will have to."

"Again, throwing yourself headlong into danger," la Volpe remarked with some amusement. "Though Niccolo and I will at least be there to cover your escape across the bridge, as long as your new allies help you out of the inner gate. What do you plan to do when you get into the  _castello_?"

"--and please do not say that you are just improvising." Ezio only grinned slightly at Niccolo's exasperated comment, but did not answer it.

"The last time I was there, it was clear that the Papal guards are not skilled in covering several fronts. We need not even completely break their forces, as a large enough show of weakness should be enough for the citizens to realize their own voice. Driving the Templars from their base will be enough of a victory."

"And Cesare?"

He paused, a thundercloud passing his expression, though he quickly reminded himself that he could not make this personal. "I will deal with him if given the chance, but he is not the target here."

As the others offered their approval, Ezio distractedly shook off the rearing bloodlust, the impatience in his eagle spirit. "Also, if the 'thieves' who capture me allow me to keep the Apple, that will be more than enough to handle most of Cesare's army."

"Yes, I meant to ask you of that - the Piece of Eden truly seems too powerful a weapon to overlook. Do you have it with you now?"

"No, I gave it to Leonardo earlier--" Ezio stopped and blinked as Niccolo abruptly flicked his attention to him, openly incredulous. The eagle scowled at him impatiently, continuing, "And do not make any comments about him being outside the Order, Brother, he will be safe as long as he keeps it here."

"He left."

"...What?" His own shock was blank, he only able to stare at the younger Assassin's mounting anger.

"Less than an hour ago," la Volpe confirmed quietly, evidence of his own emotions masked, save the furrow of worry across his brow. "He said he was going to his workshop. If we had known he had the Apple with him..."

"Blind," Niccolo spat suddenly, advancing upon Ezio with the very air of a flaring raptor. "You are always so  _blind_  when it comes to that man. You of all people should have realized how distracted he gets when it comes to these things. No doubt he came up with some ludicrous new design while studying it--"

"Enough, enough, I get it," the nobleman snapped in turn, a little defensive as he rose to his feet. "I... I will go find him before he gets himself hurt. We have no choice; we need to move now, today. Niccolo, you arrange the meeting with Francesco for noon, and Volpe, you give the recruits their instructions and disguises when they arrive."

He did not give them space for any further comments as he turned swiftly on his heel and hurried back onto the streets. A thought pressed him at the very back of his mind, and he rebuked it quite harshly, yet it bothered him all the same - they were only assuming that Leonardo had taken the Apple by accident.


	22. Again, to the Cage

Barely had he touched the streets when Ezio broke into a run, mentally mapping out the most direct route from Tiber Island to the Castel Sant'Angelo. He leapt to the rooftops as soon as he had cleared the river, for once ignoring the shouts of the archer guards who saw him, and seeking not to silence them, but to simply sprint out of range of their loosed arrows.

Ezio attempted not to dwell too much on his skeptic thoughts, but the stretched rush to the  _castello_  left him room to think, to doubt.  _Blind_. Niccolo's accusation stung him with the truth it held - never once had he looked upon Leonardo with his eagle's discerning gaze, had never thought he needed to.

_After all that I hide from you, that I say behind your back, can you really accept what I tell you to be truth without questioning?_

In Florence, his answer to the artist's question had been simple, confident. That had been mere weeks ago, almost mere days. Even after he had arrived in Rome, Ezio had looked to his friend as the sole person he could trust, ever the single point of stability after his home had twice fallen into blood and ruins.

So why now, at near journey's end, did he feel the flicker of doubt?

Inward as his attention was, he nearly stumbled when he finally caught sight of his target, and needed to jerk quickly to a halt. He had reached Leonardo sooner than he had expected, but the Assassin found that he could only pause and watch as his friend wove through the crowd just below him, his pace casual and measured.

However, Ezio knew the artist's mannerisms, could read the forcibly masked excitement wound into his very steps. Had it not risked drawing too much attention, he knew Leonardo would have wished to run straight on to his destination.

Indecision marked him, and Ezio wavered for several more breaths, the eagle of him tracing circles in the sky. He trusted his friend still, but it would not hurt to put to rest any possible suspicions. A simple glance would be enough for him to know if he should halt Leonardo with a word, or with a blade.

His eagle spirit waited on him, yet still, he did not allow his vision to shift. He feared the answer, he realized, quite blankly appalled at his own hesitation.

…Not yet, he finally thought decisively. He would handle this issue, just not yet.

Quite forcefully restraining his instinct, Ezio dropped lightly onto the street and approached Leonardo swiftly from behind, releasing his hidden blade. He brushed by him in barely a flicker of white, neatly cutting the satchel that hung from the artist's belt and catching the rounded leather as it fell. The whispers of nonexistent wind, distinct to the Apple, sounded quietly to him as he swept away as quickly as he had come, pushing back into the cover of the crowd.

He was not sure why, but he glanced back as he left. For a split second, he caught the blue eyes meeting his, somewhat wide in surprise and confusion, as if looking upon an apparition. Then Ezio turned his back, and was away before he could change his mind.

He transferred the Piece of Eden more securely into the folds of his robes as he made for the western Centro, where he was to meet his recruits. They had only been granted about an hour to prepare and position, but he knew – with luck – it would be enough.

The Assassin could sense them all around him as he again wove into the maze-like streets, flitting just out of sight as they awaited the signal from their supposed Templar leader. Based on their number, he was glad to see that the vigilantes had managed to lure away the true members of the Cento, but the deception would not last for long. He needed to hurry, and distract Lanz' attention away from his assumed fellow thieves.

He happened upon Francesco before the Templar, and thus shadowed him closely, lingering behind corners and alleys to keep out of sight. Here, he was careful to keep to the streets, knowing that Lanz would more likely use the roof edges. For this ruse, the Assassin reminded himself that he needed to seem the vulnerable one.

Ezio heard the clatter of steps before he caught sight of Lanz, and drew to a halt in the shadow of a pillar as he watched Francesco jump, obviously startled by the young man suddenly dropping into his path. The fledgling Assassin retreated a pace, his hand upon his dagger, but he only watched the other warily, perhaps assessing the threat.

"You are being followed,  _amico_ ," the thief leader said easily, speaking to Francesco as if he were already a comrade.

The novice turned in open surprise, and Ezio obligingly stepped into the light, pretending not to hear the light footsteps upon the rooftops as the 'Cento' moved to surround him. The courtyard they had arrived at, filled only by a low rimmed fountain, was quite exposed, a perfect ambush.

"I was not tailing you, Brother, but this Templar here," the nobleman explained lightly, pacing to the side to face Lanz more directly, and to keep the other Assassin out of harm's way, should the thief decide to attack him.

"You call him brother, yet you dangled him as bait for the lions," Lanz laughed, quite bluntly condemning. "See, Francesco, I told you that they did not care for you."

Ezio blinked, but swiftly hid his own surprise as he saw the hurt and accusation reflected in the young Assassin's eyes. Already, Francesco's faith had been staggered, so torn by witnessing the Order's merciless enforcement of its tenets, and the Templar thief was playing upon it, luring him astray.

"Brother-" the eagle tried, but the novice only took a slow step away, standing quite decisively at Lanz' side. Ezio scowled and looked accusingly towards the Templar, who only answered him with a small grin.

A sudden shift from the roof just to his left called his attention, and he glanced up briefly to recognize the foreigner he had met in the Campidoglio, his dark skin still striking past the black bandanna that covered most of his features. The man's eyes betrayed indignity, his stance the urge to leap into the courtyard to convince his friend otherwise. So, at least it was only Francesco who had fallen under the Templar's sway.

Ezio stayed the disguised vigilante with a stern glance, a flash of his eagle's eyes, before turning back to Lanz. "Your men seem to be itching for a fight, Templar. But how about you face me yourself for once?"

"So proud. You speak as if you are any different from me,  _messere_ ," the thief responded, touching a light hand to Francesco's shoulder and motioning him aside. "Perhaps I do prefer to let others work for me, but I can see you Assassins are no different; letting pawns take the fall while you swoop in for the glory and the blood."

"You assume too much," he only remarked, circling closer and glancing with false wariness to the shadows of movement all about them as the vigilantes shifted and paced, quite convincingly mimicking the Cento - almost too perfectly.

Ezio frowned and wondered. How many of those above were actually his allies? He had not yet had the time to recognize them all, knew not how to tell. It was completely possible that the young sniper had been the only rebel to successfully take the place of one of the Cento Occhi.

Leaving nothing to chance, he began to allow his eagle's vision to slip over his own, but a sudden flame of red filled it, startling him and prompting him to throw himself backward a step. Lanz had run at him brazenly, but in the brief moment that he met the Templar's eyes, lit with mocking, he knew that it was merely a distraction, a signal for his men to spring into action.

Sure enough, just as he dodged the thief's charge, the men above him leapt down into the small courtyard, blades drawn. He had not time to use his vision, and could only react, and hope that at least a majority of them were only feigning the assault.

Long sword and dagger still lost to him, Ezio instead reached for the silvered orb humming with life at his side. The Piece of Eden's power came easily to him by now, though he struggled to contain it, doing little more than flashing its ethereal light towards his attackers.

All drew back sharply, but there were those in the throng who did so without fear, marking them more clearly than a uniform. Ah, luckily, la Volpe had told the vigilantes of the Apple.

He had only just begun counting his allies, counting the seconds when he could feign weakness from overuse of the Piece of Eden, but a sudden, agonized cry from his eagle spirit startled him, and for a moment, he could only freeze, gold-flecked eyes wide.

"I prefer to let others do the work for me," Lanz admitted from beside him, his tone silken as he slowly, almost carefully, pressed the shiv deeper into the Assassin's flank. "But just for once, I think I will handle this myself."


	23. Play of Blood

Drawing breath was suddenly a struggle, his body ceding under the weight of the wounds it had been burdened with. Ezio was aware of the Apple falling from his distracted grip, but he could do nothing, could only shudder as the dagger was forcefully torn out of him, and he was allowed to drop to the ground.

He gripped at the blooded robes at his side, fighting to steady himself on one knee as Lanz moved to stand before him, nonchalantly wiping his blade. The Assassin did not look up and determinedly swallowed any sounds of pain, not wishing to grant his enemy further satisfaction; but the eagle of him fluttered with uncharacteristic frailty, feathers in the dust.

He had never really thought of his own death, had almost begun to disregard the possibility after so many years of eluding its clawed grasp. However, neither luck nor skill could last him forever, and now, as his very breath pained him, even his eagle spirit faltered. It took much for him to admit it, but the compounding injuries of these past days were growing too much for him to bear.

This brief but seeping darkness was broken, when two shapes suddenly entered his tunneled vision, hands reaching out to support him. At his collapse, a couple of the vigilantes – one he recognized to be Tessa – had apparently rushed to his side, panic and honest concern written in their movements.

However, they seemed to catch themselves, and quickly hid their evident worry by seizing him by the arms, as if to restrain him. Ezio lifted his gaze to them as the one he did not recognize discretely pressed a fold of cloth to his wound to stem the bleeding. Through his sluggish thoughts, he was grateful for their concern, these people who were yet strangers to him.

"Lanz, that wasn't necessary."

The tense reprimand was ringing, and all in the courtyard turned towards the novice Assassin, who looked upon the footpad with lowly simmering anger. The addressed one only snorted, shaking his head but – oddly – avoiding the other's eyes. Had Ezio not heard the venom in his tone mere seconds earlier, he would have almost thought that Lanz regretted his attack.

"I'm sorry, did you want to be the one to do it?" the thief laughed, though there was a slight strain to his tone. He pushed his shiv into his belt and approached Francesco, setting a hand on his shoulder. "After all, you said you wanted to free the city, didn't you? These Assassins will try to control it just as much as the Borgia do now, they don't deserve pity."

"Oh? My mistake then," Ezio spoke up suddenly, his voice grating as he struggled to keep it clear. "I had no idea that  _freedom_  was your goal here."

The eagle glanced to the younger Assassin, his expression quite impassive. "It is your choice, Brother, but do not tell me you are fooled by this thief's lies--"

"No one was talking to you,  _messere_ ," Lanz cut in with a rather tight smirk, moving to the fountain and quite pointedly picking up the Piece of Eden. He glanced to Francesco as he studied the orb, seeming disinterested with him now that he had outlived his usefulness. "You can leave this to me now,  _amico_ , you made the right choice on which side to take."

The novice wavered, glancing between them. His sparked rage after realizing the deception was understandable, but perhaps somewhat dangerous in this instance. Turning upon the Cento now would only get him killed.

"It really would be best if you left, Francesco," Ezio remarked flatly, straightening as well as he could and appearing to strain against the two holding him up, the whisper of a threat and a warning in one. "Only harm will come to you if you stay."

Francesco frowned and looked back towards the edge of the courtyard, staring a moment into the exiting alleyway as if he were looking for guidance from someone there. Then, he seemed to come to a decision, and with a final nod, he obeyed.

"And what is to happen now?" Ezio asked rather quietly after the young vigilante had left, glowering at the Templar thief, who could not seem to tear his gaze from the Apple he held. The plan had shattered, and he struggled to adapt to the change, to think of some way to keep the Piece of Eden from the Borgia - Cesare would not so easily relinquish it a second time.

Lanz shook his head, tossing the globe of silver quite nonchalantly into the air and catching it again. "Perhaps you should have asked yourself that before throwing yourself directly into my territory. I would almost think you have a death wish."

The Assassin allowed a rather sardonic chuckle, ignoring the fact that his breath caught slightly in his throat. "If I had a death wish, I would go to any Templar but you."

The footpad was silent a moment, both ire and curiosity evident in his stance, before asking slowly, "Then why?"

Ezio only shrugged, purposefully avoiding his eye, which seemed to frustrate the other more than the insult. Abruptly, Lanz approached him again, staring past the shadows cast by his hood, though the Assassin almost scoffed at the boy's attempts to be intimidating. "Tell me, what are you planning?"

He did not answer, distractedly supposing that he owed the thief a little more credit. Perhaps he was making this a little too easy for him – though honestly, he could do little with the fresh tear at his ribs, which did not pain him much, but sapped at his strength.

Quite fearlessly, he leaned forward as well, finally meeting the other's eyes, and smirking at the falter he saw there. "Maybe I just find it easiest to attack the weakest first."

He shifted suddenly, slipping quite easily free, and darting a hand forward towards his enemy. The footpad jerked away, though was not quick enough to keep Ezio from brushing the very edge of the Apple, causing it to flash in response to his touch.

He had not had time to even begin to activate the artifact's power, but Lanz jumped back as if stung all the same, dropping the Piece of Eden and nearly backing into the courtyard fountain, open shock passing over his face.

The Apple clattered to the stones for a second time, and the thieves shifted wordlessly, some of the disguised vigilantes glancing to each other and hiding their amusement at the reaction. The Templar growled out and snatched the orb up again, snapping with somewhat forced arrogance, " _Messere,_  that might be a little more convincing if you weren't on the floor right now."

The pair renewed their grip on him, a little more forcibly this time, though the Assassin could read the laugh in their eyes. Ezio turned to meet Lanz' glare easily, tilting his head slightly and speaking out, "I don't think I even need to be standing to be able to kill you. I don't know why Cesare thinks to trust you with so much."

"The  _padrone_  has faith in me," the other snapped, glancing to the Apple a little uneasily, likely wondering if it would act up again. He continued in a somewhat venomous declaration, a careless grin at his lips, "He will be grateful for me bringing him the two things he desires most."

"Unfortunately, that isn't likely to happen. You may be assuming too much, Lanz."

The familiar voice startled him, and Ezio looked sharply towards the side street that Francesco had disappeared into moments before. Leonardo paced into the open space, weaving past the small circle of Cento Occhi.

Lanz' smirk vanished, and - a little involuntarily - he clutched the Apple to his chest. "What do you want,  _ingegnere_?"

"Just following up on our agreement," the artist said quite coolly. He spared Ezio a brief glance, his gaze lingering on the injury to his side before flicking away again. "I believe I was the one who helped convince Francesco to meet with you. I at least deserve half of the credit for this."

"But I did all the work," the thief protested quite childishly. "All you did was  _talk_  to one of your artist friends--"

"Regardless, we had a deal," Leonardo spoke firmly, advancing upon the thief, who backed away a step with evident fear. Ezio blinked a little from behind the shade of his hood. The hardness in the blue eyes was quite unlike his friend, something that confused him, and seemed to unsettle the Templar.

"Fine," Lanz forced out after a moment, glancing to his men who had tensed at the impending threat, and calling them off with a wave. "We can each deliver one of the contracts. Take whichever one you wish – though you are on your own if the Assassin's allies come after you for doing so."

The artist nodded with evident satisfaction, and Ezio sighed inwardly with the shadow of a smile. He appreciated his friend's worry, he ever the medic, though he supposed being brought to the  _castello_  by Leonardo would have the same results--

Without another word, Leonardo neatly took the Apple of Eden from the Templar and turned to leave the courtyard, barely granting Ezio a glance. As the Assassin stared after him, struck to silence, he saw an unmistakable coldness that he did not recognize.

" _Signore_  Auditore," Leonardo acknowledged with a dipped nod as he swept past him.

Still quite taken aback, Ezio only wryly returned the nod. " _Maestro_  da Vinci."


	24. Trials Masked

He did not know why, but Ezio could not tear his gaze from the swirl of the red cape as Leonardo exited the courtyard, and left him behind. The expression that had marred his friend's usually light demeanor only confused him, and raised questions he had not the time to have answered. He had never seen the artist like this before, and that in itself almost made him wish to abandon the mission to confront him.

A dark thought whispered to him, reminding. Infiltrator as he was, Lanz had never actually said that he had been the one to give the Templars information on Monteriggioni, the details that had allowed them to topple the edifice that had stood strong for decades. Could Leonardo have…?

"That's it, we're moving out, right now," the footpad bit out suddenly, speaking into the silence that had been left in Leonardo's wake. "Let's get to the  _castello_  before another agent tries to come for a piece of our prize. You two bring me the Assassin's weapons."

Lanz paused as he glowered at the eagle, who only regarded him with a bored eye, before adding with some hesitance, "...and bind his wound as well. We don't want him dying before we can collect the price on his head."

The thief walked purposefully ahead, evidently to clear the path of any who might interfere. Most of the others obediently began to trail after their leader in a winding stream, leaving Ezio with only the two vigilantes at his sides, and a few minutes of privacy.

The nobleman shifted a little gingerly to pull the blood-soaked robes away from his re-opened injury, as Tessa began patting her pockets for something, the light clinking of glass and metal sounding from the many vials she had tucked into her satchel. As she opened one filled with a thick liquid, and moved to pour a small amount into a cloth, Ezio asked quietly, "What's that?"

"Poison," the lady vigilante replied nonchalantly as she pressed the damp rag to his wound, meeting the Assassin's raised brow with a small grin. "Though nothing that would kill you. It's from the oil of a foreign plant, capsicum - should numb the pain for a while."

"Thank you," Ezio said honestly as she finished and bound his side with deft movements, and as the other helped him to his feet. The eagle touched the unnatural heat at his flank, sating himself with the thought that the toxin would allow him to move freely again soon enough.

He looked to the backs of the retreating Cento, wary of enemy eyes, before adding quietly, "Pass this message to your allies. Once we reach the  _castello_ , none of you are to attack until I can recover the Apple. I won't have you risking your lives until we have enough of an advantage. Understand?"

They both nodded, and Tessa remarked, "We will follow you,  _maestro_." This time, there was sincerity in the term of respect, and Ezio could not help but smile.

They all moved on to the Castel Sant'Angelo in silence, the Assassin with his hands bound loosely, and two men at his shoulders half-dragging him quite unnecessarily. He let them, and rallied his strength.

Glancing to the one leading the group, he saw that his hidden blade hung at the Templar thief's side as a war trophy, and a little irately, he silently promised Lanz that he would feel its bite after he reclaimed it.

The sky had darkened with a coming thunderstorm as they reached the northern edge of the Centro district, its great winds whipping up the waters of the Tevere. The eagle took note of this, and dryly kept in mind that escaping into the river tonight would not be a good idea.

The Papal guards let them through without much trouble, and Ezio kept his head down, feigning disinterest as he peered out past shaded eyes, and counted them. They were watching the thieves with evident disdain, particularly the one who strode pointedly at their head. These Templars were yet divided, it seemed.

The winding corridors of the stronghold enclosed them again, and the eagle of him shifted in recognition, knowing these walls. It unsettled him that he had only just left this place, but if their uprising proved successful, this would be the last.

They halted in a narrow chamber, and the nobleman watched with a measure of amusement as Lanz tried quite unsuccessfully to gain an audience with the Captain General, speaking heatedly with the less than enthusiastic guard captain stationed there.

Ezio frowned slightly as he waited, disliking how the nearby Papal soldiers eyed him, clearly wishing for the credit of his capture; though the footpad was at least commendable in how tightly he held onto what he was convinced was his. Tension was high, regardless.

For now, only words filled the somewhat crowded space, and the Assassin glanced carefully to the nearby exit. He had memorized the path they had taken, and knew he could easily escape into the maze of corridors in the floor above. He needed only to wait for an opportunity.

Just as the Papal captain finally began to grow irked, irritably mentioning that the  _padrone_  was too busy at the moment, and perhaps they could just hand over the prisoner to be dealt with later, the eagle swept into motion. He jerked to the side quite suddenly, elbowing one of those who held him, and tearing free. In the brief but tangled confusion as the Cento and the guards 'accidentally' got in each other's way in trying to reach him first, Ezio wove easily to the edge of the room.

He evaded the arms that grabbed at him and made straight for Lanz, nimbly knocking him to the floor with a sweeping kick, and taking his weapon between his bound hands as he fell. He hesitated briefly, wondering if he should kill the Templar thief before he proved more of a problem, but thought against it, if only for the realization that his opportunity to escape the room would not last.

He slipped under a guard's forward strike with a spear, ducking low and shouldering him in the gut, the man's own momentum tumbling him straight over the Assassin, and onto the ground. Ezio straightened and darted out the door, turning an immediate right and taking the staircase at a run.

The alarm sounded behind him as he crouched in the cover of an ornate pillar, rather awkwardly triggering the mechanism of his blade, and holding it bared long enough to cut a notch in the ropes that held him. Freed and relieved that he felt nothing from the fresh wound at his ribs, he sprinted down the path he already knew led to the main tower, where Cesare - and the Apple - would likely be.

As he ran, he found that he was glad for the oncoming rains. Storm winds leaked through open windows and doors, flickering the torches that lit the upper corridors, and splashing phantom-like shadows upon the wall; making even the veteran guards stab into empty corners, and jump at apparitions of the escaped Assassin.

Ezio passed briefly into open-air, feeling the drops against his hood and shoulders, and hoping that few would be out on the water-washed battlements. However, as he did, the eagle of him raised its head, hackling as a blooded aura passed somewhere within feet of him. He glanced sharply around, but could see no other past the light rain, until he looked up.

From the outer wall he was perched upon, he could easily see the shadowed figures of the two on the  _castello_ 's second, inner wall. They were quite a distance above him, but the nobleman could not keep back a snarl as he recognized he who was responsible for the fall of his home and his uncle.

"Cesare," Ezio greeted him tightly, his voice carrying with the thunder.

The Captain General regarded him with open contempt, before turning his attention to his bodyguard, who stood ready at his shoulder, and giving him an order that Ezio could not hear, but could guess.

"I'm assuming you've visited me again for a reason, Auditore," Cesare replied icily as Micheletto slipped off, likely to rally the guards. "Come to give up the Apple? Where is it then?"

"The...?" Ezio stopped himself, hiding his confusion, which was followed quickly by inward relief. Ah, so Leonardo had at least kept the Piece of Eden to himself. He still did not know why he had taken it to the  _castello_  in the first place, but for now, he was content with the realization that he had not (yet?) handed it over to their enemies.

Feigning indignity, the Assassin snapped, "I was about to ask you the same thing. After your Cento Occhi dog took it from me, I assumed he would bring it to you right away. Though perhaps I am overestimating the loyalty of your supposed allies – my mistake. If you'll excuse me then, General."

This final word was spoken with great sarcasm as he swiftly turned his back and continued into the building.

His objective had not changed, but Ezio was honestly unsure whether retrieving the Apple from Leonardo, and not from Cesare, would be any easier, particularly after his encounter with him in the Centro. There was an explanation for the artist's demeanor, he was sure.

He could only hope that the explanation was not the one he feared.

The route down to the basement was familiar, though it was thick now with the guards and thieves who had been sent to search for him. He lingered in sheltered alcoves, remaining still behind marble statues - sometimes for minutes at a time - as enemies passed him by.

It took some time, but finally, he stood before the workshop door again, idly noticing the jagged mark that the Papal guard's halberd had left in it. He could hear breath and a murmured voice from within the room, and he ran a finger habitually over the release mechanism of his wrist blade as the eagle of him hissed with unease.

The nobleman swiftly pushed open the door before he could change his mind, blinking to adjust to the suddenly dim lighting. As expected, Leonardo was sitting at his desk, a myriad of paper and candles and tools scattered before him. However, he did not react to the sudden intrusion, and only sat unmoving, a hand pressed to his forehead.

As Ezio carefully shut the door and moved into the room though, there was the slightest of shifts, enough for the other to glance towards him with the same, quite uncannily flat gaze. He could see now that he had recognized him, but the artist still did not smile his usual greeting, did not relax his agitated stance. The Assassin met his stare with a light frown, speaking gently, "Leonardo?"

The older man did not meet his eyes, and only looked away rather listlessly, reaching out to set an unsteady hand on the orb of silver that lay between the implements strewn across the table.

"Leonardo, answer me," Ezio demanded a little sharply, his irritation rising, along with his tight concern.

A stretched pause, then barely the whisper of a response. "I… I ca…"

"What?" He scowled, stopping across from the other with only the desk between them. "Speak,  _amico_ , I can't understand y--"

"Do you really want me to say it?" The statement was spoken in a burst like fire, the flash of venom all but startling the eagle back a step.

"I can't  _take_  it, Ezio," the artist lashed out, surging to his feet as the last shreds of his calm broke, and as he glared directly into the Assassin's slightly wide eyes. "For days sometimes, I use it, look into it, but still it gives me nothing but scraps, only fragments sometimes, if anything at all! That time in Venice when you touched it, I saw so much, too much for me to even remember, but after, when I am ready, when I actually seek, that is when it gives me  _nothing_."

_Hurt_. The dead blue eyes pierced him as Ezio realized the emotion that he had not recognized, not in this man who had always so carefully hidden his own pains, had smiled and tended to others first.

This frustration must have been building for weeks after the siege, when Cesare would have looked to the artist to study this unsolvable puzzle. Spy or not, Leonardo was a man of the mind, not one to abandon something that held such potential for knowledge - but the task was impossible, even for him, and that he could not bear.

The distance and cold detachment was simply how Leonardo coped with such deep hurt and chagrin, and Ezio – his friend, his  _brother_ , who had even dared to doubt him – had not seen it.


	25. On Instinct

He did not realize it at first, but as Leonardo suddenly rounded the table and advanced upon him, the Piece of Eden held in his white-knuckled grip, Ezio found that his eagle spirit was hackled against the rising threat. Right now, the artist was imbalanced, his emotions frayed from the splinters of knowledge – almost, of poison – that the Apple had left upon his mind.

The nobleman backed away carefully, brow furrowed as he avoided any drastic movements, almost as if to keep from startling a wild beast. It was strange, but the way Leonardo looked at him, he was not sure if he was about to hit him, or run from him.

"What do you want from me,  _amico_?" Ezio asked tersely, struggling to keep his tone even, to coax his friend from this near-madness. He glanced to the Piece of Eden as he continued to keep his distance, noticing it glowing faintly with jagged whispers of gold.

"Answers," the elder one snapped, his tone audibly strained as he made a motion to throw the Apple to one side, a jerked gesture wrought with ire. "All I seek is  _answers_. Is that too much to ask?"

"Sometimes it is," the Assassin replied impartially, pausing in his retreat as he nearly bumped into a table, and was forced to hold his ground. "Leonardo, I have nothing to tell you. There is little I know about this Piece of Eden that you do not – perhaps we are simply not meant to understand it."

The artist finally halted as well, his gaze flickering agitatedly to the shadowed edges of the room, though he did not respond. Ezio took the opportunity to draw near him on cautious steps, treading as quietly as he would to approach a target. "Believe me, it is useless to persist in studying it now. Just give it to me,  _amico_ , it is for the best--"

The Assassin held back a sharp gasp of surprise as Leonardo rushed him without warning. The eagle of him screeched an angry challenge, however, Ezio refused to meet the charge, and only flinched slightly as the other latched onto the front of his doublet.

He expected a blow to follow, and braced himself for one, but after a pause of only silence and clipped breaths, he finally eased the involuntary tension in his blade arm, and glanced towards the man before him. The artist was only staring at the floor, right hand not loosening from his collar, and Ezio noticed that he was clutching onto him more to keep himself upright, rather than to hold him still, as he had initially thought.

"You tell me something, Leonardo," he said quietly, his brow furrowed. "If you desired answers so earnestly, why did you not ask me to activate the Apple for you? You've seen me do it – why only sate yourself with studying it after I've held it, and not directly?"

A pregnant pause, in which Leonardo finally lifted clouded eyes to his face. "...Please, do not think me Cesare,  _amico mio_ ," he spoke tightly, releasing him at last and turning away unsteadily. "I... I would not use you like that."

Ezio smiled, ever slightly. "I am not surprised."

The Assassin studied him a moment, before pacing over to stand at his side, carefully taking the Piece of Eden from his slackened grip. The other did not resist, and only gave a quiet sigh, wearily pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"There will be time to discuss the Apple, just not now," Ezio assured him, tucking the orb away into his robes and out of sight. "For the moment, I need to deal with the Borgia. After the attack starts, I can send someone down here to help you leave the  _castello_ , and bring you to Niccolo and Volpe."

"Ah, yes," the artist spoke a little shakily, quite bravely trying to return the usual nonchalance to his tone. "You mean members of the  _resistenza_ , correct? I've actually talked with Francesco about your plan – and I may be able to help."

Leonardo went over to the edge of the room, approaching a pile of canvas and splintered wood, which Ezio – somewhat guiltily – recognized to be the flying machine prototype he had destroyed on his last visit here. However, as the other shifted some of the pieces aside, he realized that a mechanism had been added upon its back, an additional weight that had likely allowed it to be knocked down so easily before.

"This is only an early model, but I think it should be able to contribute to the chaos you plan to spread," Leonardo remarked, shifting the heavy metal device into the candlelight. "It's an incendiary cannon. With a few minutes, I should be able to salvage enough of the explosives to cause some panic in the stables, or perhaps in the East courtyard."

"It is perfect," the Assassin said approvingly as he looked over the mechanism, impressed. "Then please, do what you can. I'll send enough of our allies down here to help you as soon as I meet up with them. Take care of yourself, Leonardo, I'll see you again later."

He moved away swiftly, but at the entrance, he hesitated and glanced back. Leonardo was only working mutely, hands buried amid cogs and metal, but he looked more exhausted than Ezio had ever seen him, and still, the weight of drawn-out trials was visible in his blue eyes. He did not wish to leave him, not like this, but the mission called for his attention.

Shaking off the impatience of his eagle spirit, the nobleman turned decisively on his heel. He returned to his friend's side to clasp a firm hand on his shoulder, causing Leonardo to jump slightly in surprise. The other blinked at him, and Ezio added sincerely, " _Amico_ , you've done as much for the Order as any Brother would, and I'm grateful. By the end of today, I swear to you, you will be able to rest."

The answering smile was fleeting, and a shade forced, but that was enough for the moment, and the Assassin left quickly on silent steps.

The Apple was a familiar weight on his palm as he strode out into the inner courtyard of the Castel Sant'Angelo, the entire area thick with tumultuous rain and enemy guards. The door had barely swung shut behind him when eyes and weapons were pointed in his direction; the choice few in the crowd marked by black bandannas only meeting his gaze knowingly. The vigilantes spread out quietly among the soldiers, wolves among the oblivious sheep.

Ezio lifted the Piece of Eden high, the golden light refracting through the water drops upon its surface, and multiplying a dozen fold. The flashed signal had not even faded before the first scream was sounded, and the first blood was spilled.

The confusion amid the Papal soldiers was welcome and tangled, their cries rising up over the walls as the thieves tore through their ranks from within. At their front, the Assassin wasted no time either, plunging into their midst with the artifact held out to one side, and his bared hidden blade to the other.

The eagle lashed out in sweeping strikes with the Apple's power, feeling the sap upon his mind and strength, but tightly sating himself with the turmoil it brought. He could feel the lightest of brushes of his enemies' minds against his as he snapped their sanity, and dropped bodies onto the floor by the dozens, each either writhing in pain or in madness. Those who did not fall quickly enough were hurried along their way by a blade to the throat.

Several attempted retaliations lanced towards him, but Ezio was not so easily caught, the blinding flash from the Piece of Eden shrouding him like a ward, and misguiding most strikes. The foolish few that charged him from behind – in the lee of the golden light – were rewarded by a flicker of white movement as the Assassin dodged, and buried his wrist blade into their still-gasping chests.

It was not moments before several men chose to flee, none able to gather their bearings with the knives appearing almost from nowhere to dig into their backs, and with the show of unworldly power felling their comrades like chaff. Ezio let them go, and held up a silent hand to halt the vigilantes' own attempts at pursuit.

The storm rains had plastered his hood to his neck and shoulders by now, both hated and welcomed, with the chill settling at his core, as well as easing his battle fever. His breath was fogging in the air, as was that of the allies who crowded around him, seeking his instructions during this lull of the battle. They had lost a few, with some others nursing minor injuries, but the spirit in these young ones had only been stoked, the fire of pride and thrill visible in each of them.

Carefully controlling his uneven breath, the Assassin directed a number of them into the  _castello_ 's basement to aid Leonardo, and several more to open the main gates and prompt in the citizens who were doubtlessly curious of the panic rising from within the battlements of this presumed impenetrable fortress. There were more allies to be had, he was sure, helped along as well by Niccolo's and Volpe's rallying efforts just beyond the Tevere.

Just as the last of the rebels ran off to sweep the rest of the fortress defenses – avoiding the Papal apartments, as Ezio sternly insisted – the eagle glanced up for a second time that day, and again caught sight of movement on the inner wall overhead. Evening and thunderclouds had darkened the sky, but a distant flick of lightning proved enough for him to recognize the young woman running across the ramparts, her steps and blatant disregard for the water soaking into her hair and clothes clearly marking her haste.

She vanished into the corner guard tower of the  _castello_ 's second wall, and without another thought, the Assassin hurried to follow her. As la Volpe had told him, this Fiora oversaw Cesare's personal army of murderers – perhaps she too had heard of Lanz' supposed betrayal, and sought to see evidence of it herself.

It may have simply been dark pleasure and bitter memories, but Ezio wished to bear witness to the Templars turning on each other, and collapsing upon themselves.


	26. Taste of Sacrifice

The small cracks and ledges slipped from under his boots, more than once almost tossing him unceremoniously back to the ground far below. Ezio let out an impatient breath, stopping halfway up the rain-slicked wall and hoping silently that Fiora would not go far. He did not wish to lose her, but he could not risk hurrying, not in this weather, where simply missing a handhold would tempt death.

The wound to his flank – bled open twice now, by bullet then blade – did not bother him thanks to Tessa's medicine, but he flinched instinctively each time it stretched, knowing he was only doing more damage to it as he could not feel the extent of the injury. Ah, his body would fail him when it was most inappropriate, he was sure.

It took a slight struggle, but he finally stilled between the ramparts of the guard tower's peak, just able to hear the reverberated voices spilling out of the arched entryway below him. He adjusted the Apple securely against his side, widening his stance to keep his balance, and tuning out the sound of rainfall on the battlements stretching before and behind him.

"--not betrayed you,  _padrone_." The tone was plaintive and trembling, though tight determination rang audibly behind it. The Assassin cocked his head, peering past his water-soaked hood at the shadows painted onto the floor. The guttering torches within the watch tower cast the three dark figures clearly onto the puddles and stones, allowing Ezio to watch them, even from outside.

"How can you say that after your thieves killed my men just feet away?" Cesare demanded, his anger shrill and roiling, and the hand upon his brandished  _pistola_  near trembling from the emotion.

"Please,  _padrone_ … this is the Assassin's ploy, I'm sure of it." Fiora's voice was soft but insistent, the honest concern for her fellow agent clear as she came between the two men, reaching out to push the gun to one side. However, her further attempts to sate her master's temper were cut short by a cry as she was struck rather harshly across the cheek, and knocked backwards through the gateway and into the rain.

Ezio tensed, realizing that he was in plain sight to her from that angle, but as the courtesan looked up slowly at the white figure perched upon the edge of the tower, she only met his gaze calmly, making no attempts to speak out a warning. The honeyed eyes seemed tired, a thread of sorrow within them.

The nobleman frowned at her, thoroughly confused at her outward drop of guard, and only watched silently as she finally straightened unsteadily, a sleeve pressed to her bleeding lip.

" _Cesare_ ," she spoke firmly, her voice admirably clear, and a touch insolent. "If… If you are to blame anyone, it should be me. Had I kept a closer eye on Lanz, this would not have happened. Though… though I cannot say I blame him. There is only so much you can ask of your servants before something breaks."

The Captain General paused to look at her as she stood her ground upon the castle wall, a rather defiant stance that he evidently noticed. His shadow shifted, signaling that he was pacing rather threateningly towards her.

Ezio's brow furrowed as his eagle spirit raised a fervent cry, it sighting its prey in easy reach below him. Cesare's dark cape whipped sharply in the winds, marking an inviting target, but still the Assassin hesitated. Why would Fiora wish obvious death upon her own master? There was little doubt that it was a trap.

"If you are referring to Juan," Cesare's answer was spoken lightly, but his amused grin was false and rather fixed, his words almost lost in the flurry of the storm. "I would remind you that you did that on your own accord at the time. I own you now, Fiora, just as the Solari once did. I find it rather ungrateful of you to complain after I've taken care of you for so long."

The courtesan lifted her chin, her expression rather blanked, but her eyes flickering, just for a moment, over the Captain General's shoulder. Though Ezio was quite a height above them, even he could read the signal passed to Lanz, a plea for him to run; and perhaps, that was her mistake.

The footpad managed a few steps in the opposite direction, the tentative tread of a whipped dog unsure if flight or stillness would be the better option, but it was not nearly enough. The eagle stood, for a moment considering stopping the act, but he could not chance a missed strike, not even for the rather pitiful Templar's life.

There was no feeling as Cesare shifted calmly on the spot, his gray eyes not leaving Fiora's own wide ones as he lifted his arm behind him, and fired a single shot into the guard tower. The explosion of the discharge mingled with the thunder, and the soft fall of the body was not heard.

"Now look what you've done, Fiora. See, you've killed him," the Captain General admonished levelly, still not looking back as the courtesan took a shivering step away from him, hands clasped to her mouth to keep back either a sob or a scream of rage.

The emotions were written with such clarity in her eyes, almost reminding Ezio of a young lady past, whose own gaze had also held that same mirror.

Again, his decisions were made for him, and the Assassin wryly wondered if he would ever stop sentiments from getting the better of him. If there was something that Mario had never stopped badgering him over, it had been that.

Ezio pulled in a breath, balancing upon the air for the briefest of moments as he watched the Templar lift his  _pistola_  for another shot, as Fiora only stared upon her supposed master with such condemnation. His eagle's senses picked up the minutest details of movement in this heightened state, allowing him to read his target even with the rain and the distance. With his blade ready, he leapt.

He was barely a flash of white in the water-choked air, but perhaps fate had other plans, for just as he dove, lightning ripped the sky, flickering the shadows and calling Cesare's attention to the one descending upon him from behind. The Captain General turned, the wheel-lock gun raised defensively, but he did not have time to fire as the eagle's talons fell upon him.

The Templar cried out, though Ezio bit out an oath in frustration as his strike missed its mark, burying deep, but into shoulder instead of spine. The force of the blow carried them both into the ground, and they tumbled apart, wet armor scraping shrilly against the equally wet stones. Writhing upon the ground, the Captain General just managed to yell out an enraged accusation at Fiora's back as she fled, slipping upon the puddles and vanishing – wisely – from sight.

The nobleman slid and kicked out against the nearby wall to swiftly halt his momentum, springing to his feet and charging his enemy just as he steadied his stance. Cesare barely caught his blade arm, suffering a rather painful wound to his hand, but struggling to hold him back nonetheless.

The younger man's face was inches from his own as they grappled, and Ezio snarled quietly, fighting to bring his blade even a shade closer to his throat. However, the Templar's struggles were indignant and panic-stricken, a powerful mixture. Changing tactics, and staring rather threateningly into the other's narrowed eyes, the Assassin suddenly fell back a step.

Not expecting the shift, Cesare stumbled, his misstep sloshing up rainwater in waves; and the eagle easily took advantage of the opening, throwing him back against the rampart wall. He struck him finally, but only heard his eagle hiss in lashed irritation as the blow was deflected, leaving only a nick upon the armor collaring his target's neck.

Even as Ezio recovered his footing for a second attempt, the Captain General took the moment to retaliate, drawing his rapier and sweeping out at him. Though his attack was somewhat slow and wearied, Cesare had evidently seen the Assassin's bloodied robes, and the eagle recoiled defensively, bristling as he evaded the strike to his injured flank. The edge tore into cloth and leather, but did not graze him.

He caught the next blow against his bracer, forcing the sword away as he closed the distance between them again, this time aiming his hidden blade higher, and into the narrow gap of exposed flesh. However, Cesare was suddenly lit with a renewed strength, and the Assassin had only a moment to wonder why, before he felt the familiar weight leave his side, snatched from the pouch that had been laid open with the rapier strike.

The eagle of him screeched its alarm, and though he reached forward to reclaim the artifact, the Captain General lashed out – more in panic than with forethought – driving the rounded metal powerfully against his wounded ribs. A cry tore from him and Ezio staggered back, gasping in his next few breaths as Cesare retreated from him as well, towards the corner of the battlements.

However, the Assassin only took spare seconds to recover, and lunged forward once more as soon as he did, anger fueling his strike. His gaze was fixed upon the fear in the gray eyes as he leapt, only distractedly noticing the bloodstained Piece of Eden brandished at him - but the next moment, a flash of gold.

Much like the throes of a panicked beast, the Apple responded in a flare of light; brief but powerful, a breathed show of strength. Ezio grunted as he was thrown backward, tumbling against the ramparts in a splash of crimson-tinted water.

He snapped a curse as he struggled to regain his feet, seeing that Cesare was just as startled as he that the artifact had reacted to him at all. The Captain General turned the silver orb slowly in his hand as he looked upon the beads of blood lining its crevices, a rather sickening grin now tugging at his lips.

The Assassin had barely steadied himself against the  _castello_  battlements, hearing the Tevere roar below as it swelled with storm rain, when Cesare rushed him with an air of near-madness. Ezio pulled in a sharp breath as a rapier edge was pressed suddenly to his throat, and the cold surface of the Apple to his cheek.

"So that's your secret," the Templar hissed, his voice catching with fatigue and dark excitement. "Fiora was right, this artifact answers only to you – though it seems that an offering of blood will sate it just the same."

Dark eyes narrowed in useless fury as he felt the incorporeal chains winding into him again, faint but just enough to hold him. Cesare was chuckling quietly, almost manically, his sword beginning to dig into the eagle's throat.

"Luckily for me you have plenty to spare."


	27. Below the Sky

Pain was not on his mind as the iron tore into him, only frustration and an indignant rage. The eagle in him beat its wings against the unseen cage, but Ezio could do nothing to resist the artifact's power, could do little more than glare into the eyes of the man who was slowly cutting the life from him. There was darkness rising around his fading vision, though he found he did not fear it.

A deafening explosion lashed into the air.

The flickers of the impending void were abruptly lost as the entire length of the battlements shook, as if in a quake. The rippled effect whipped through the water under the feet of the two standing upon it, catching at their stances and unbalancing them both.

Ezio's shock at the intrusion was only fleeting, and as the Apple slipped from his enemy's unsteadied grip, a smirk touched his scarred lip. He would remember to thank his friend for his apt timing when this was over.

The Piece of Eden had barely hit the puddles in a gentle splash and swirl of gold, when the Assassin pushed off against the rampart he had been pinned to, viciously shouldering Cesare full in the chest, and throwing him upon the still-shuddering ground. He distanced himself swiftly as soon as he was free; dragging in a breath he only just realized he had been holding, and tightening his collar about the wound on his neck as a hurried bandage.

However, as he staggered a step to retrieve the silver orb rolling lazily away across the stones, the Captain General growled out and seized the edge of his robes, jerking him back with surprising strength. The blood loss wrote weakness into his limbs, and Ezio cursed roundly as he slipped, and joined the Templar on the ground.

Much as he had, Cesare stumbled past to take back the Apple, but the nobleman did not even allow him to straighten, releasing his hidden blade and slashing into the passing ankle. The cut was not deep, but again, the Templar fell, the waves sending the artifact even farther away from them both.

Likely realizing the immediate danger, the Captain General instead kicked back and caught Ezio in the blade arm as he attempted to stab into him a second time, waylaying his strike and buying himself time to draw a notched dagger. The Apple was forgotten as the two continued the duel with blade and fist, neither noticing the shivers caused by the prolonged fight, or perhaps by the frigid wind and waters of the storm.

Neither could keep their feet for more than a few seconds by this point, each periodically driven into the ground by a blow from their enemy, or from the failings of their own body. The nobleman gritted his teeth as he deflected a rather wild sweep from Cesare's short blade, tightly reminding himself that the other was losing just as much blood as he was. They were equally treading the fine line that bordered death.

Almost inevitably, at one moment where the two had drawn away from each other to gather for their next strikes, both realized that they had not the strength. They stilled, merely standing opposite each other for a span, their gasping breaths visible in the air, and only the sound of the unrelenting rain to break the rigid stalemate.

The next exchange would be the last – they both knew it – and the competition to merely bring their faltering bodies into motion weighed more than the strike itself. Ezio hissed out a quiet oath, sensing his eagle spirit flutter its weariness, but steeling himself resolutely with the memory that had brought him here in the first place.

In his mind, they were no longer in the  _castello_ , but upon the walls of the fortress city that had been his home longer than Firenze. It was not rain and fog that fell about them, but rubble and fire from the still roiling siege. What would he have done, had he had this chance to face Cesare before his uncle had? Would Mario still be alive?

He had lunged before he had even realized it, the talons and wings of his eagle spirit bearing him forward. The Templar managed to deflect the first slash, but this had merely been a feint, as Ezio latched onto the other's wrist, twisting the arm around and back in a single swift jerk.

The Assassin heard the other choke out a curse at the dry snap of bone, and he allowed Cesare to fall, he abandoning his dagger to clutch at his dislocated shoulder. Thoughtlessly, he kicked the weapon away, staring down upon the defeated enemy rather unfeelingly. Revenge had always fueled his actions, but now…  _Merda_ , it was the Vault all over again.

A little hesitantly, the eagle looked away and moved instead to retrieve the Apple, which only sat patiently in a groove of stone at the edge of the wall. However, as he carefully tucked the orb of metal into the folds of his robes, Cesare spoke out, his voice hissing and still defiant.

"Auditore. Did you not stop to wonder where my faithful bodyguard has been through all this?"

A slight pause. "Micheletto? I care not, but I expect he is trying to rally the remnants of your army," Ezio replied quite flatly, having all intentions to simply leave the Captain General here. When the citizens of Roma – who were already beginning to fill the  _castello_ 's outer walls – discovered him, they could do with him as they wished.

The Assassin turned his back upon his enemy, determinedly steadying his wearied pace as he headed towards the tower staircase. However, Cesare refused to allow him to leave, and snapped out, "A second question. Why do you think I have allowed the  _ingegnere_  to live so long?"

At this, Ezio stopped, the eagle of him hackling at the mention, and at the rising foreboding, dark as the storm itself. Would his enemies never tire of attempting to use his friend against him?

"What, did you think none of us realized that  _messere_  da Vinci was attempting to play a spy?" The Templar had gained his feet by this point, his voice wavering, but mocking all the same. "Admit it, Auditore, he is not exactly the most discreet of characters. See, even the explosion he caused was more than enough to announce exactly where he was."

"Where are you going with this?" It was a whisper, though one lit with a smoldering rage. Ezio looked back, a flash in his narrowed eyes. "What have you done?"

"You were just as predictable back in Monteriggioni," Cesare remarked with a smirk, unarmed and still holding his injured shoulder, but his stance calm, as if he held all the advantage in the world. "So easily forgetting your surroundings when your precious allies are in danger."

This statement was a warning in itself, though the Templar likely did not intend it as one. Instinctively, Ezio rushed back towards Cesare in a streak of white, startling the younger one as he whirled around him and wrapped his right arm about his throat from behind; brandishing his left one forward over his shoulder towards the two figures who had just joined them on the ramparts.

Across from him, just within the shelter of the watchtower, Micheletto was standing much in the same manner, his  _pistola_  pointed at his opponent, and his hostage gripped in his free hand.

The two guardians eyed each other, gazes passing briefly to their charges, who were being held at the mercy of enemy blades. The Assassin met Leonardo's eyes and passed him a wordless apology, which was returned wryly in kind.

For a moment, Ezio considered just killing the Captain General here. It would be easy to snap his neck and be done with it, and Mario's death would be avenged. And yet… to do so would be blind, selfish. How could he forfeit the life of the living, for the sake of the peace of the dead?

"It seems we are at an impasse, Assassin," the bodyguard spoke up quietly, his black eyes uncannily cold. "But are you sure that hidden gun of yours will still work, considering how long you've been in the rain?"

Ezio was silent, knowing he was likely right, but holding his stance all the same. "And you, Templar, do you think yourself fast enough to shoot me before I can kill your _padrone_? I may die, but I will at least take him with me."

"Either way, you are not walking away from this." The comment was stated simply, emotionlessly, with no room for contradiction.

"What are you waiting for?" Cesare snarled out suddenly, ignoring the warning pressure on his neck. "Just kill the  _maldito bastardo_ -!"

The Assassin cocked his head slightly as he saw the faintest flickers of reluctance in the bodyguard, perhaps of self-doubt. Speaking out over the enraged demands, Ezio remarked, "If you had enough confidence in your skill, you would have already fired. So instead, I have a proposal – we leave this to fate."

He took a step towards the outer edge of the battlements, and Micheletto mirrored him suspiciously, keeping him in sight, and dragging the artist to the opposite side, which overlooked the courtyard. It was evident that the Templar did not know his intentions, but tension was palpable upon the water-heavy air nevertheless.

With just the faintest of smirks, the Assassin shifted his hold on Cesare, the murderer of his uncle, and threw him bodily over the edge of the ramparts. He caught a brief glance of unbridled anger in the other's black eyes, before Micheletto viciously mimicked him, shoving Leonardo out into the void.

The two – sworn protectors in kind – rushed past each other, equally narrowed glares meeting only briefly, before they turned their attention to rescuing their charges.

Ezio slipped slightly on the veritable lake that had gathered at his feet as he ran, but only concentrated on reaching the flicker of the red cape, which threatened to vanish out of sight over the lip of the battlements. He threw himself thoughtlessly over the edge, catching onto the rampart with one hand, and managing to fix a hold on the back of his friend's striped doublet with the other. His already fatigued muscles burned as he dragged their momentum to a halt, and he uttered a dry curse at nothing in particular.

He wrestled in a breath, and heaved the artist up with difficulty, gritting his teeth against his trembling limbs until Leonardo managed to clamber up to safety. He climbed after him, and unsteadily fell to one knee as soon as he had reached stable footing, focusing on calming his gasps for air.

The nobleman looked out past the low wall the two Templars had disappeared over, only seeing the black waters of the storm-fed Tevere raging below. They may or may not have survived, but that mattered little at the moment. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he comprehended that the battle was over, but the eagle of him only keened, unsure and still wound with adrenaline.

"Ezio?"

He looked up at the artist, who had hesitantly crouched at his side. The eagle blinked at him, realizing his vision was somewhat blurred, perhaps from the drops of rainfall now hitting his unprotected face – his hood had fallen back at some point during his rush to catch his friend.

There was concern, he could see, but Ezio could muster little beyond a small smile to gentle Leonardo's worries. Somewhat bemusedly, he sat back against the battlements, leaning on the cold stone and ignoring the puddles lapping at his boots, and the edges of his robes. Simply, he was tired, but like the now gentling rain, he was sure that the aftereffects of the war were still spreading its waves.

He thought he could hear the voices of his allies in the courtyard below. There were scattered sounds of celebration, but even these were tame, almost muted. A lone voice nearby could be heard uttering a quiet prayer, a haunting lyric that floated on the wind, spoken perhaps over the body of a friend. It saddened him, but he thought he recognized the voice to be Francesco's.

The eagle of him perched finally, a sentinel silent over the blood and bodies the battle had stolen, even as lament weighted the surrounding air. But still the waters of the storm fell, as if seeking to wash all traces from this city of God. Ezio shut his eyes, and simply breathed. The dead were lost, but the living survived, and he knew, it was in this that bonds were tempered, strong.

Ending.


End file.
